The Stories That Bind Us
by DjDangerLove
Summary: A collection of one-shots filled with Neal and Peter bromance. No slash.
1. Chapter 1

**After venturing off and writing stories for other fandoms, I can't help but feel as though my heart belongs in White Collar. I love writing stories for it! :) So, here is where I will post a bunch of one shots (mostly Neal and Peter bromance, but may have some Neal and Mozzie bromance, too and maybe all three together. No slash though.) **

**One Shot #1 : Be Still**

**Summary: **Confined. It was the one word Neal Caffrey's life seemed to revolve around. Now it seemed to be his sole definition. How it came to be, he couldn't tell you. His mind had graciously let him forget it with the aid of drugs. Some think he will never know, that no one will ever know. But the better question is can he tell you how it ended? Can he tell you he made it out alive? Or will the story remain buried six feet under ground?

* * *

**Be Still**

It was dark except for a tiny flashlight he held with white knuckles. It shook almost like a flickering flame, not because the bulb was bad or the batteries were going out, but because his hands that gripped it for dear life shook. He was beyond pride. Pride was for people who could see the horizon, who could read on to the next chapter. Pride wasn't for people lost in the darkness or people with books that had the last three chapters ripped out. No. Pride wasn't for people buried alive six feet under ground. Pride wasn't for Neal Caffrey.

* * *

It's hard to watch someone succumb to fear, to watch someone's mind turn against them to run with fear. It's even harder to do when all you can do is watch. He stared at the screen inside the conference room with a nervous and worried hand at his mouth. His nerves were edging him to do something, anything. They made him squirm in his seat. His heart beat faster as if by doing so it would keep the man on the screen it had come to be so fond of alive just a little bit longer. He was willing to do anything to save him, but to do anything he had to have something. He had nothing. Peter Burke could only watch as Neal Caffrey slowly ran out of control, ran out of oxygen, ran out of time.

* * *

Neal wasn't a man of last wishes. He didn't have a bucket list. He didn't have regrets. At least that's what Neal had figured about himself when he was alive and well, when he was above ground. But laying next to death had a way of making you second guess yourself, especially in such close quarters.

He had one last wish. He begged death to grant it.

* * *

Peter watched Neal twist and kick in the small coffin. He watched an artist's gentle hands beat into the hard surface of the box without any intention except to live before the artist became completely still. For a moment, he thought he had failed, that the artist left the world with every painting burned. Every painting was, in fact, burned except for the one inside his heart, the most valuable. Peter watched Neal's chest rise and fall with every shuddered breath. It rose and fell dramatically before slowing. Then he heard it. The smallest of sounds, the faintest of whispers. The beginning of the end of the story.

_"Please...let me...tell Peter I'm sorry."_

* * *

There were many things he could learn from Peter, but there was only one that would matter. Neal seized his frantic struggles as his mind warped back in time to a moment that seemed so trivial up until the very moment he became buried six feet under ground.

_Peter sat beside him in the hospital waiting room. He sat there with his elbows digging into his thighs as he wiggled his legs while he waited on news about Mozzie and his gunshot wound. His fingers found their usual place in his unruly hair again, before he stood up and began pacing. The invisible hole he was wearing in the floor got bigger, but he paid no mind. His mind was elsewhere, running through worst case scenarios and every hellish nightmare his imagination could conjure up. He felt an unfamiliar sense of panic erupting somewhere in his chest, trapping his breath. It wasn't until a warm, calloused hand rested on the his shoulder and urged him to sit down that the panic was at the very least controlled. He sat beside Peter once more, but the older man's arm rested gently around his shoulders in what neither man would recognize as sympathy or comfort. And then he said it. He gave Neal the only lesson that would matter in the end. _

"Be still." Neal whispered as he remembered Peter's exact words from the memory. He blinked back the feeling of water in his eyes before closing them tight. He remembered Peter's arm tightening but not enough to be a one armed hug, then he said it again. "Be still."

He remembered that it wasn't until he had heard Elizabeth listening to a song on her phone later that day that he had realized what Peter's words actually meant.

_"Peter won't admit it, but he loves this song."_ She had said with a knowing smile on her face, before forcing Neal to listen to it. 

_Be still and know that I'm with you_

_Be still and know that I am here_

_Be still and know that I'm with you_

_Be still, Be still and know_

Neal sucked in a shaky breath as the song played in his head and he tried to imagine sitting in there beside Elizabeth.

_When darkness comes upon you_

_And covers you with fear and shame_

_Be still and know that I'm with you_

_And I will say your name_

He wanted coughed and blinked back the water in his eyes. He wanted to stop singing but he felt a peace in his chest as the words left his mouth.

_If terror falls upon your bed_

_And sleep no longer comes_

_Remember all the words I said_

_Be still, be still and know_

* * *

Peter just stood there, staring at the screen.

"What's he saying boss?" Diana questioned from beside him, trying her best to turn the volume up quick enough.

"He's...he's not saying anything. He's... singing." He responded before letting the words of the song ghost across his own lips just loud enough for himself to hear as he sang along.

_And when you go through the valley_

_And the shadow comes down from the hill_

_If morning never comes to be_

_Be still, be still, be still_

Peter felt his chest caving in as he listened to Neal whisper the words of the song. He felt his quivering voice produce the next words before his heart had ever caught up.

_If you forget the way to go_

_And lose where you came from_

_If no one is standing beside you_

_Be still and know I am_

Peter stood from his chair.

_Be still and know that I'm with you_

_Be still and know I am_

"Boss?"

Without looking at her, he turned and walked out of the room knowing she was following closely behind.

* * *

Neal opened his eyes and felt the air catch in throat at the sight of darkness. He felt a whimper on his lips and curled in on himself and into the softness of the sheets.

He froze.

He shouldn't be able to curl onto his side. He should be laying on anything soft and warm. Prying his eyes open and blinking a few times he began to take notice of the soft, yellowish glow of a bedside lamp in a white painted room. The smell of wood and dirt and been replaced with something strong and sterile.

He shuddered, afraid that this was all a dream, afraid at any moment he would be plunged back into that dark, buried coffin. But something pulled him from his thoughts. A steady beeping sound coming from somewhere up above him, but as his ears tried to determine the exact location of the sound, they picked up on something else, something soft and peaceful.

It was a song playing on a cell phone laying on the bedside table of the hospital room he was in.

_When darkness comes upon you_

_And covers you with fear and shame_

_Be still and know that I'm with you_

_And I will say your name_

"Neal?"

Neal's breath hitched as he couldn't clear his eyes fast to enough or turn fast enough to find the voice. A steady hand was in his hair and the bed dipped down where someone perched on the edge.

"P'ter?"

He heard the man sigh and for a moment he felt worried. "Yeah, buddy. It's me. Are you alright?"

Neal furrowed his brow. "Is this...real?"

Peter chuckled and ruffled his hair easily. "Yeah. Yeah it is. We found you two days ago. You've been in and out of it ever since. Do you remember any of it?"

Neal nodded and fumbled with the nasal canal under his nose until Peter's hand stopped him. "I remember being...buried." If Peter felt the shudder that ran through Neal, he didn't mention it. "I remember...I remember...n-nothing else. Just...this."

"Just what?"

"This song. I remember hearing this song. I remember you..." Neal stopped and turned his head into the pillow as much as the nasal canal would let him. "I'm sorry."

It would be a few weeks until Neal was able to talk about the incident in detail with Peter, but for the moment Peter just sat there on the edge of the hospital bed, his hand laying reassuringly in Neal's hair, until the younger man fell back into a restless sleep.

"It's okay, Neal. We're here. Elizabeth and I." The agent looked over his shoulder to see his wife sleeping in the armchair in the corner. "Just...be still."

The song drifted through the speaker of Elizabeth's phone as Neal once again drifted off to the words for an umpteenth time that Peter had lost track of and Neal probably wouldn't remember.

_If terror falls upon your bed_

_And sleep no longer comes_

_Remember all the words I said_

_Be still, be still and know_

And if Neal wouldn't remember it, Peter found no harm in singing along once again.

_And when you go through the valley_

_And the shadow comes down from the hill_

_If morning never comes to be_

_Be still, be still, be still_

"I remember Elizabeth singing this." Neal whispered from his half asleep state of mind.

Peter patted his head. "Yeah? Alright, Neal. Go to sleep." Peter offered quietly trying to get him back to sleep before he began singing along again.

_If you forget the way to go_

_And lose where you came from_

_If no one is standing beside you_

_Be still and know I am_

Neal opened his bleary eyes and turned his head out of the pillow with a grin Peter hadn't seen in a long time. "And I remember you singing it, too." Peter felt the heat burning in his cheeks at the embarrassing moment, but Neal just grinned at him waiting for him to continue and it was only when he did, that Neal gave into sleep.

_Be still and know that I'm with you_

_Be still and know I am_

* * *

**AN: The song is Be Still by The Fray. I absolutely love this song and one day while listening to it, I just wrote this. Let me know what you think! Thanks for reading! :)**

**P.S. Can we all agree that in Gloves Off, Neal's face when Mozzie says "You'll break his jaw." and he wipes his mouth, was too adorable? haha**


	2. Chapter 2

**One Shot #2 : Sink Into Me **

**Summary: Tag to Gloves Off...Kind of. **

* * *

**Sink Into Me**

It sank into him.

The cool breeze of the night ghosted across his face and stung his cuts and bruises from the match causing Neal to shiver and draw his legs closer to his chest and bury his head farther down in his knees as he sat in the graveyard. His spine ached in protest of being pressed against the back of Ellen's headstone for too long, but if anything Neal leaned back against it more just for spite.

Images flashed in the back of his mind like fireworks on the fourth of July, celebrating independence, but God, how Neal hated that. He didn't want to celebrate independence. People had died. People had left him. People had betrayed him. That's how he earned independence. He was independent to have a personal life, a private life, now. And for what? To sit alone in a graveyard at two in the morning? He let out a choked laugh. What a life it was.

But there was a fire in him, in his veins. The emptiness of the cemetery burned in him, reminding him that Peter had done this. Ellen was gone because of Peter. Sam was gone because of Peter. A part of himself was gone, floating somewhere in limbo just beyond his reach because of Peter.

Then there was Mozzie. Always Mozzie, with his loyalty engraved on the side of the knife in Neal's back. He had went behind him to Peter about the tape out of some misplaced sense of protection.

Neal let the air out of his lungs in a choked laugh that was missing a trace of humor. He let his head fall back against the gravestone and jumped when he saw someone standing a few feet away. He straightened his back and squinted his eyes to see who was standing there.

"No." He grounded out between his grinding, aching jaw. "You don't get to come here. You don't! Leave."

"If you think I'm going to leave you here like this, you're wrong." Peter responded, walking closer and not missing the slight movement of Neal curling further in on himself. "It is fixing to rain and I know you walked here, so that either leaves you sitting here in the rain, walking home in it or letting me drive you back."

"I'll take a cab."

"You and I both know that won't happen."

"Doesn't matter. I told you my personal life no longer concerns you. Now go."

Peter stood there moment unwilling to be moved, until he decided to sit down across from Neal and lean on one of the headstones in the next row facing the younger man.

"What're you doing?" Neal asked in a low tone.

"You really want to know?"

Neal glared at him over his arms that his head was buried in. Peter just shrugged and sat back watching the white fog trace his breath in the air.

The emptiness was back, creeping up Neal's spine from the lifeless ground beneath him, yet it didn't burn like before. It just felt like pressure caving in on his chest. A rain drop appeared on the sleeve of his blue jacket, followed by another. He felt them landing in his unruly hair and heard them sloshing into upcoming mud puddles around him, but he didn't dare move away from the grave, from Ellen, from his family. Instead, he just sank down.

He sank down deeper into himself as the rain sank into him.

* * *

Peter did his best to wait it out, did his best to sit there and not intervene. However, the rain had picked up into a steady downpour and had soaked him to the bone. His thick raincoat had done all it could, leaving him somewhat protected against the chill of the wind, but it didn't stop a shiver from running down his spine. That wasn't enough, though, to make him get up, but the wracking frame of the other man was.

* * *

Neal felt something slide down against his shoulder and stay there. He didn't need to look up to know Peter sat beside him.

"This is your fault." Neal spat, but not moving away.

"I know." Peter sighed and hung his head. In a hesitant movement, he laid an arm around Neal's shivering shoulders. He felt the younger man tense, but when he didn't pull away he repeated, "I know."

Neal felt that part of him, the one that floated somewhere in limbo, hovering over him, dancing around him. He wanted to reach out, to grab it and never let it go. He wanted it, and for a moment the desire was so much greater than wanting Ellen's warm voice soothing him one last time, or wanting Sam to tell one last tale about his father he couldn't remember. God, how he wanted it.

"Neal, let's get out of this rain. You can hate me just as much indoors, I promise. But if you're in the hospital with pneumonia, well, you're plan goes a little south, don't you think?"

He was so afraid of moving, afraid that the part of him floating around him would vanish like the white fog dancing in the air with each breath that escaped him. He wanted to protest. He really did. He wanted to go stiff when Peter pulled at his arm to help him stand. He wanted to dig his heels into the mud when Peter tugged him towards the car. He wanted to do so many things, but he couldn't do any of them.

He let Peter guide him towards the car and sank down into the passenger seat.

* * *

The heat hit him at full force twisting a grimace out of his bruised face and causing his body to curl towards the door until Peter backed the vents down. He silently waited for the car to move while looking at the window and the white patch of fog growing on the glass as he breathed. He breathed in deep and felt the growing emptiness in him once more as that part of him remained fleeting.

He sat back in the seat as the car began traveling down the street and relished the heat as it sank into his skin.

* * *

"I'm going to home." Neal stated as he stepped out of the car. "I'm going to June's."

Peter stood in front of him on the sidewalk in front of the steps leading up to the Burke's residence trying his best to hurry them inside as the rain still poured. "Neal, you're soaking wet and it is still raining. You're not walking home in this."

"I'll get a cab."

Peter was about to protest, when Elizabeth opened the front door. "What are you boys doing out in the rain? Get in here!"

Neal gritted his teeth, but before he could step away Peter had him by the arm and was leading him up the steps.

He did his best to smile at Elizabeth as he stepped into their home while anger sank deep into his veins.

* * *

Neal sat on the couch in a pair of jogging pants and a t-shirt from Peter's wardrobe and wrapped in blankets doing his best to still his wracking form, but the sloshing hot chocolate in the mug between his shaking hands gave him away. Although he wanted to, he didn't lean away from Elizabeth's hand that rested on his forehead.

"You're already warm." She stated as she pulled her hand away. "I'll go get the thermometer and some fever reducer."

Neal made no indication that he had heard her, but gave Peter a sideways glance as the agent sat down beside him on the couch in a fresh pair of clothes.

He shook as a tremor ran down him and couldn't help but groan as his muscles protested the nonstop shaking.

"Neal?"

" -'m fine." He mumbled. He extended his shaking hands and placed his mug on the coffee table.

He pulled the blankets closer and sank back into the couch.

* * *

He woke up for the tenth time in three hours with a throbbing behind his eyes and a dull ache in his muscles. He rolled over onto his side and curled in on himself as far as the edge of the couch would let him, but his knees bumped into something on their way to his chest. Prying his eyes open, he looked down to see Peter sitting on the floor leaning against the couch. The agent picked his head up from the cushions and rubbed at his own tired eyes.

"Neal?"

"P'ter." Neal's voice was rough in the silence of the night and the sinuses draining in his throat battered it even more. He coughed harshly into his curled hand before burying his head in the pillow once more. "What're you doing?"

"Making sure you don't go back outside for round 2." Peter leaned over and felt the side of Neal's face that wasn't in the pillow. He let out a sigh as the heat still burned underneath the younger man's skin.

"Still don't trust me even under these circumstances."

"Which circumstances?"

Neal cracked a glassy, blue eye. "The ones that have me buried in your couch."

"Your choice. I tried to get you out of the rain."

Neal couldn't dispute that because he felt saliva pooling in the corners of his mouth as nausea once again twisted the pit of his stomach. He groaned and twisted on the couch.

"The bucket is right here. All fresh and clean." Peter's voice was calm as if he had been through this a million times and Neal briefly wondered how many times the agent had cleaned the bucket only to be ruined once more, before realizing he shouldn't feel bad about that. Peter had betrayed him, hurt him.

But the hand on the back of his neck as he leaned over the edge of the couch to put his face in the bucket for what he wouldn't remember as the fourth time, had his anger being placed on the back burner.

He gagged and lost what little water Peter had let him drink the previous time. But there, somewhere around him, he felt it. He felt that fleeting part of him hovering around him. It wasn't taunting him. It was just there hovering over him waiting for him to accept it.

"Are you done?" Peter's voice broke through his thoughts and the agent's hand left the back of his neck to remove the bucket from underneath him. Neal nodded and watched through half-lidded eyes as Peter left to wash it out.

He laid there, following that part of him floating in limbo, until Peter came back, replaced the clean bucket beside the couch, gave him a small glass of water to rinse his mouth out with and then sat back down in the floor prepared to do it all over again.

"Aren't you going to go to bed?" Neal asked from underneath the blankets.

"Do you want me to leave you down here?" Peter watched as Neal's head poked out from underneath the blankets. Glazed, blue eyes stared at him for a moment with an intensity he wasn't prepared for and it had him standing up. However, he got to a squatted position when the younger man shook his head.

"No?" Peter questioned to get confirmation. Neal shook his head again.

"Alright." The agent patted the covers where he guessed Neal's leg to be and sank back down to the floor.

* * *

It was forty minutes later when it happened.

With Peter kneeling beside him, awkwardly rubbing his back as he yet again dry heaved into the bucket, Neal tried to focus on the quiet mantra Peter had kept up the whole time. "Easy, buddy. Just ride it out."

After a few minutes he laid back into the couch as Peter began to reach for the bucket, but he caught his wrist with a clammy, shaky hand. "No."

"What?" Peter's voice held no weariness despite it all and Neal almost couldn't wrap his head around why.

"Jus...leave it. Go to sleep. Please."

Peter chuckled and eased himself down on the edge of the couch. Patting Neal on the stomach, he checked his fever with his other hand and still felt it.

"I will, Neal. Eventually."

Neal watched Peter slip off the edge and once again sit on the floor.

Peter, despite his unwillingness to trust Neal completely for good reasons, regardless of all his faults, was a part of Neal, like Ellen had been. They didn't share the same blood, blood that Neal found very hard not to believe tainted, but it didn't matter because as much as Neal kicked, bucked, twisted and ran, Peter took it, rolled with it, straightened it and caught him.

Peter was that fleeting part of him, always around but never quite sure where. Neal stared at Peter sitting beside the couch and despite the fact that anger burned in him as he did so, he welcomed the fleeting part of him as it sank into him.

* * *

**AN: Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think! **


	3. Chapter 3

**Thanks to everyone who has read, followed, favorited or reviewed this story! It truly means a lot! So before the week starts back up with my college classes, I will leave you with one more one shot! :)**

**One Shot #3 - Lollipops and Candy Canes**

**Set after Parting Shots and before/beginning of Honor Among Thieves**

* * *

**Lollipops and Candy Canes**

The handle of the fork in his hand dug into the skin of his palm as he squeezed it hard as anger threatened to burst through his mouth in words that he would never be able to take back. He clenched his teeth painfully and pushed some mashed potatoes around his plate.

"So, Neal," Elizabeth started softly from the end of the table, "do you like the new case you guys are working on?"

Neal heard her, but her voice was like a soundtrack playing in a movie. He was aware of it, but his mind was too focused on the images playing in the back of his mind to process it.

It had been four days since Ellen's death. Four painful days, four hellish nights. The nightmares that twisted Neal's body in the sweat dampened covers at night didn't like to be kept hidden, either. They liked to flicker in the back of Neal's mind during the day and burn bright at night. The fire at night was easily kept secret, but the ashes were getting harder to hide. Dark circles under Neal's washed out eyes got darker with each sun he saw rise and fall. The fifth sunset was on its way and Neal felt like the fire inside of him just burned brighter in the dark.

"Neal?"

It was Peter's deep voice that had Neal's hand jerking in surprise as his mind was dragged back into reality. The teeth of the fork screeched across the glass plate drawing a wince from the Burkes. Neal blinked.

"What?"

Peter and Elizabeth exchanged a look Neal wanted no part of.

"I asked if you were enjoying the case you guys are working on?"

"Oh." Neal cleared his throat and began piling his mashed potatoes back in their lump. "Yeah."

Elizabeth nodded her head slowly while uselessly wishing to get more out of him than two words.

"Honey, what's for dessert?" Peter changed the subject.

"I made key lime pie. I'll go get it."

"Let me help you get some extra plates." Peter replied while standing up quickly. Unfortunately, the quick motion was no match for Peter's drinking glass which was sent to the floor with a loud shatter. But like dominoes, things just got steadily worse. Neal jumped at the sudden movement and the shatter of glass and immediately the fork fell from his hand as he stood from the table with a pounding heart.

It seemed like the world froze as all three of them stood there with Neal looking at the glass, Peter looking at Neal and Elizabeth looking between the two of them. Finally, Neal's eyes rose up from the broken glass and Peter caught the panic swimming amidst his faded blue irises. Whether it was because the agent could see the swift rise and fall of Neal's chest or he just understood that Neal had been startled, the sound of Neal's fiercely pumping heart filled the silence that had fallen over them.

"It's alright, Neal." Peter supplied cautiously as he bent down to pick up the bigger pieces of glass that wouldn't cut him. "I just knocked the glass off the table."

Peter looked back up to Neal and realized a little to late that the younger man was preparing to bolt like a frightened horse. He barely registered the door slamming before he got up and followed after him.

* * *

Neal would realized in the morning just how hard the impact of his legs against the concrete was as he ran down the sidewalk. The fire in him spread as the dark of the night coated the city. The nightmares that kept his heart racing, his mind running and his eyes open at night, licked at him as he ran. He shook his head to rid his mind of images of Ellen, but the action caused the air to catch in his throat. He tried to keep running as he attempted to get oxygen to his lungs, but failure to do both had his spine rolling up against the side of a brick building before his legs buckled beneath him sending him sliding to the ground.

His breath was desperately loud and ragged as he tried to breathe fresh air in the atmosphere of his nightmares. The heel of his palms dug into his eye sockets so hard that when he pulled them away black dots censored his vision, but he didn't care. That is, until a hand he couldn't see landed on his shoulder.

Neal jerked to the side and in anguish, fumbled to stand up from the ground, but the hand on his shoulder gripped him tighter and another grabbed his other shoulder to hold him steady. He bucked and twisted like the hands holding him were nothing more than the covers of his bed that wrapped around him at night when a nightmare held him in the deepest pit.

"Neal! Neal, stop!"

Only the covers never spoke to him.

"Neal! It's Peter! Stop fighting me!"

The hands left his shoulders and now encircled his wrists. Neal sucked in a shuddering breath and willed his eyes to see reality. Peter was squatted down in front of him with lines of concern at the corners of his eyes and mouth.

Neal felt the back of his head touch the building he was leaning against as he tried to lean as far away from Peter as possible. Whether it was because Neal's mind was still tainted with panic or Peter was just too close for comfort, the agent looked two sizes bigger and it had Neal trying to shrink away.

"Just calm down." Peter's voice was breathless and light, but his heaving chest made the words seem so much forceful than they actually were.

Neal wanted to buck again, but could only manage to jerk his arms towards himself before Peter was coming even closer because the agent wouldn't let go of his wrists. The younger man rolled his head to the side so he wouldn't have to face it head on.

Fortunately, the agent seemed to realize that.

"Neal," His tone was cautious but strict. "I'm going to let go of you, but the second you try to run we will be back like this, okay?"

Neal nodded frantically until Peter let go of his wrists. He pulled his hands up to rest in his hair as his elbows rested on his knees that were drawn up. He just tried to breathe normally.

"What's going on, Neal?"

The younger man didn't answer.

"Hey. Look at me."

Neal did so, but the wild look in his eyes made it hard for the agent to keep his gaze.

"Whatever is going on, you can tell me." The consultant opened his mouth to speak but immediately closed it. Peter insisted. "What's wrong, Neal? Is it about...Ellen?"

Neal's lack of reaction was enough for Peter to believe he was right. Letting out an audible deep breath, he hung his head as he tried to figure out what to say. What was there? Deep down he knew what Neal was thinking. Death followed him everywhere, consuming everyone, except the one person it stalked. What was there to say to someone seemingly bullied by a reaper?

"Come on." He said while standing and pulling Neal up with him by the arm.

"Peter." Neal wasn't sure why the man's name rolled off his tongue, but he felt his chest rise a little easier with the next intake of breath. Peter understood his name being spoken for the uncertainty that it was and just pulled Neal along back the way they had came.

* * *

Elizabeth's hand gently patted his shoulder before she left him sitting in awkward silence in the living with Peter. The agent sat in the chair opposite from where Neal had uncomfortably sat down on the couch and had since just stared at him as the younger man studied the floor while wringing his hands together.

Peter cleared his throat and softly slapped his hands together while leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. "Well..."

"Peter, it's late. We don't have to do this." Neal cut off as he stood from the couch.

"Sit down." The order was firm and Neal could do nothing but slowly comply. He dropped back down to the couch with forced annoyance. "From the looks of it, the only thing I'm keeping you from is a sleepless night. Do you want me to ask Elizabeth for some of her make up to cover up the circles under your eyes?"

The agent's attempt at lightheartedness was lost on Neal who rolled his eyes and leaned back into the couch. "What do you want me to tell you Peter?"

"What do you dream about?"

The corner of Neal's mouth lifted as embarrassment tried to redden his face. An airy laugh escaped him. "Lollipops and candy canes."

"You're crazier than I thought if that's what is keeping you up at night."

"You know what they say, too much sugar is a bad thing."

Peter forced a laugh. "Alright, Neal. Have it your way." The agent stood from his chair, pretending to be ready to let the conversation go, but hopeful that the reverse mind game would go unnoticed and work.

"Wait."

The agent clenched his teeth so victory wouldn't show as he sat back down and waited for the younger man to continue.

"I...It's...It's sometimes different...different people, different scenarios. But mostly her, mostly...Ellen and it always...ends in this loud pop...like a gunshot..but kind of like an...explosion too." Neal was looking at the floor again, but Peter doubted that was what he was seeing. "Whatever it is that...it's always so loud."

"Hence the reason you kind of freaked out when the glass shattered." Peter slowly stated.

Neal laughed softly. "Yeah. Kind of."

"Why didn't you say anything?"

"There's a lot going on, Peter. The case. Trying to find Sam."

"It's a little overwhelming. I get it."

Neal nodded and rubbed a hand down his face.

"I promise you, Neal. We will find Sam. In the meantime, we keep doing our job though. Just like every other day, take it as it comes. Even the nights."

"Sometimes it's easier said than done."

"I thought you like challenges. You know, makes life spicy." Peter joked with a small smile.

"Apparently, you've spoiled me." A grin molded Neal's weary face and for a moment a shade of blue swirled in his grayed irises.

"Obviously not enough."

Peter reached forward and grabbed the remote to the television. With a push of a button, the screen flickered on and played out a captivating false reality that locked Neal's nightmares away for the hour that the conman remained awake.

When the agent realized he had lost his younger charge to a restless sleep, he stood to retrieve a blanket from the closet and placed it over Neal. He sat down in his chair once more, this time settling down for a long night. Whether their talk or his presence would keep the flames of the hellish nightmares that licked at Neal's dreams at bay, he couldn't be sure, but one thing was for certain. Tomorrow, he would do his best to find Neal's lollipops and candy canes.

* * *

**AN: Hope you enjoyed this one! Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think!**


	4. Chapter 4

**A little different one-shot. Sorry for the wait! College consumes my life! But I think I will live on this site until January. lol**

**One-Shot# 4 - Knew It**

* * *

He knew it.

Blood was spilling fast. It was pouring from the torn flesh of the gunshot wound in his stomach at a speed he couldn't slow with his numb, trembling hands. He felt the chill of the concrete pillar against his spine snake through the rest of his withering body with a vicious quiver that seemed to never end. The small breath he tried to take even shook.

He was dying and he knew it.

Suddenly a flame burned his belly. The heat attacked his skin and drove down into his flesh so hard that the pain became mangled in his throat. If not for the blood rushing in his ears, he would have heard it force its way out of his mouth in a sound that would've made his cheeks red under different circumstances. His eyes closed and opened as if a small layer of honey glazed over them, but through the sluggishness and haze he could see the flame he felt in his stomach. The flame was a warm, calloused hand pressing down on the thief about to rob him of his life. The hand was trying to protect his life and he knew it.

With a blood-slick hand, he batted at the flame, at the hand. It burned him. Another flame, another hand, wrapped around his wrist with enough pressure to tell him to stop his attempts to get free. He seized his efforts as the hand left his wrist and grabbed him at the side of the face, fingers wrapping around his neck and thumb resting on his cheekbone. It told him to stop all fleeting attempts, including the most dangerous kind. The hand didn't want him to die and he knew it.

He sucked in a breath that quivered between his lips as he leaned his head against the concrete pillar to see the face that the hands belonged to. The honey on his eyes got thicker and blinking became a slower action. He focused on the heat at the side of his face to help ease the shivers rummaging through his frame while he worked to clear his vision. The glassiness ceased enough to make out the face. It was Peter's face and he knew it.

He stared at him, stared at the deepening lines on the agent's face. He watched lips move like an illiterate, but the expression swimming amidst brown iris told him he would be damned if he didn't obey the words he couldn't hear. The feeling of cotton in his throat had him swallowing, but it didn't go away. Air tried to snake it's way past the unwanted presence in his throat like a game of Red Rover, but to no avail. Blackness washed up around the edges of his vision like waves on a beach shore. He was disobeying and he knew it.

The hand on his stomach drove down harder on his torn flesh, but he didn't even flinch. He kept his eyes on Peter's twisting face until another presence washed over him. Fingers slid through his hair while another hand encircled his cold, almost paralyzed one. But he didn't dare take his eyes off Peter's face. In the end, Peter's face would be the last one he wanted to see and Neal knew it.

* * *

The whooshing sound of the ventilator now took the place of Neal's wheezing breaths from before. The sound was creeping up his neck and wrapping around his ears and hauling annoyance around with it. He cracked his knuckles in between the steady beeps of the heart monitor. Leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, he was reminded that the sounds were like hearing for the first time because a few days before Neal's breaths had stopped reaching his ears and had vanished completely. He eyed the machines that prevented Neal's life from slipping out and with a deep breath, he rested his forehead against the rough, cold sheets of Neal's bed and prayed. He was scared and he knew it.

Even in a coma Neal had a way of tempting to flee, to leave him behind until he would once again find him. Only this time Neal wasn't threatening to go to a place that he could locate on a map with the help of friends and a few clues and hunches. If Neal went, he would be left trying to find a black hole in the dark. If Neal died, a part of him would too and Peter knew it.

* * *

For the fiftieth time in two weeks, she counted the number of tubes snaking from Neal's body. Each one giving the kid something his body couldn't produce, taking away something his body couldn't get rid of, doing something his body couldn't do. It left her knees weary and like the forty-nine times before, she sat down in the plastic chair that would stiffen her aching back and sipped on her hundredth cup of coffee. She wanted to deal with her concern another way, but the way she wanted to would only interrupt something important and she knew it.

Instead, she let her stiff spine dig into the plastic chair in the corner of Neal's hospital room and stared at the young man laying somewhat curled up on his side with his arms laying listlessly out in front of him so that his hands would lay just far enough away from the edge of the mattress so the other person could comfortably rest their arm on it while holding his hand. She watched the other man as he placed the now vomit filled metal bin on the nearby table with a worried, yet disgusted expression before turning back to Neal. He took his hand and ran it through Neal's flat, unruly hair before just resting it there. She noticed Neal's eyes slowly descend in a mixture of exhaustion and content, before the corner of his mouth that wasn't hidden by the pillow curled up as the other man said something she herself couldn't quite hear. The nasal canal that wrapped around the back of Neal's ear rose up as his cheek lifted to let a small laugh escape him. It was cut off by a groan, but she didn't need to see the young man's drug-dulled, blue eyes to know that there was still light in them. Neal needed that man. Neal needed Peter and Elizabeth knew it.

* * *

Halfway through week four, he found himself sitting in the hallway watching the kid slowly walk up the hospital corridor for the first time since he had been shot. Neal's right hand wrapped around the railing along the wall with a white-knuckle grip as he stood on trembling, weak knees. The man beside him placed an arm around him in encouragement and assistance, before maneuvering them both to a nearby bench. The man rolled the IV pole beside them, while Neal breathed heavily into his hands. He saw Neal shove the other man's concerned hands away with annoyance and he prepared himself to stand so he could go to Neal's aid, but stopped short when Neal glared playfully as the man ruffled his hair. He felt a spark of jealousy surge through him, though he knew he had no right, as he watched them verbally jab at one another. Eventually, they began their slow descent back down the hall towards him and he straightened in his chair. A smile slowly twisted his face as the kid looked at him briefly for some kind of motivation. He stood slowly to give Neal a place to work towards, not missing the pride that flowed through him at the determination on the kid's face. But determination wasn't enough for Neal's recovering body. He couldn't step forward until the injured man was already sitting on the floor in embarrassment, but even then he had to stand a distance away. The other man was already telling Neal it was perfectly alright and doing his best to wrangle a smile onto the kid's face. He could only watch as Peter took care of the kid, _his _kid. Peter wasn't Neal's father, but Peter was the best thing Neal was going to get and Sam knew it.

* * *

He cautiously swung his legs as they dangled off the side of the bed while he waited for them to return. The drugs in his system had his eyelids drooping slightly and his mind floating somewhere in an unknown place, but the idea of finally going home after being confined to the walls of the hospital for almost six weeks had him fidgeting with excited, yet nervous energy.

"There he is!" Peter's voice came from the doorway. It took a few seconds for Neal to react, but eventually he looked up and watched Peter, Elizabeth and Sam ,or James, walk into the room. He grinned at them, but stayed seated on the bed. They looked at him expectantly. "You ready to go?"

"Yeah." Neal felt his silver tongue coming back to him. "Yeah."

The look on their faces told him that his silver tongue wasn't at its best. "Well, let's go kid. Wheelchair is waiting." Sam patted the thing Neal had dreaded riding in for the final time, but still didn't move.

"Neal?" Elizabeth moved a little closer.

Neal coughed and straightened. "Yeah...um I gotta use the...the bathroom before we leave." Had he not been looking at his shoes, he would've caught the look Elizabeth shared with Peter.

"Okay, we'll be just outside the door when you're done." Elizabeth said as they turned and headed out the door. Neal nodded, but as soon as Peter went to follow El and Sam he reached out and lightly caught the agent by the shirt sleeve. Peter stopped and turned towards him with a worried look. He felt the other two's gazes on him as well and his cheeks began to burn. "I...Can you.." As Neal uncharacteristically fumbled for words he didn't miss the disappointed look cross Sam's face.

"Like I said, we will wait for you two in the hall, then." El tried to ease the situation and all but ushered Sam out of the room. Once they were gone, Peter turned to Neal.

"Hey, you ok?"

Neal kept his gaze on the door, but nodded.

"What's going on, Neal? You're finally getting to ditch this place. I thought we would have to bound you to the wheelchair so you would run out of here. What? You gonna miss those sponge baths?"

A faint grin ghosted Neal's face. "Yeah..."

Peter sighed and pulled the plastic chair up to the side of the bed. He sat down and looked up at Neal. "What's wrong, kid?"

Neal still stared at the door.

"Hey."

"Are things going to change?"

Peter's face twisted in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"With Sam or...James, being here. Does that...change things?"

"What _things_, Neal?" Peter had a pretty good idea, because he had been wondering the same, but wanted to hear the younger man say it.

"Us."

"He's your father, Neal."

"By the actual definition, maybe, but...there are...more important things."

Peter chuckled and stood up. "Do you really need to pee?"

Neal grinned but shook his head as he slowly slid off the bed. Peter's arm gently wrapped around his shoulders.

"Well we better get going before El and Sam send a search party for us."

They began walking towards the door, but Peter stopped them and pulled Neal closer in a side arm hug. "Oh and for the record, you're damn right there's more important things. I may not be your father but I still own you for some time."

"And after that?"

Peter shrugged, but led them out into the hallway, his arm still around Neal. "It's up to you."

Sam and El smiled at them as they appeared. Neal got into the wheelchair, Peter got behind to push while the other two lead the way towards the exit, agent and consultant following lazily behind. Neal looked up at Peter. He looked back at El and Sam, noticing that Peter followed his gaze before they looked at each other again. "For the record, more important things have a tendency to stay more important."

Peter grinned and opened his mouth to say something, but was cut off by the sound of Elizabeth's voice coming from a few feet up the hallway. "What are you boys doing back there? Walk a little faster, honey."

Peter looked up to see El and Sam waiting a bit impatiently at the end of the hallway.

"Yeah, Peter. I walked faster than this when I first got out of bed." Neal teased.

Peter chuckled and ducked down as he pushed the wheelchair faster. "I'll remember that you chose her side in this."

Neal grinned but accepted the challenge. "I'll take my chances."

* * *

El and Sam watched Peter and Neal tease each other as they waited for them to reach the end of the hallway.

"They never stop, do they?" Sam quietly asked, with a small smile.

"Those two?" Elizabeth laughed. "Never."

They saw Peter ruffle Neal's hair and the younger man try to twist out of the way with a grimace. The agent was instantly knelt down by the consultant's side, but Neal suddenly raised up with a grin to wide to be anything but sly. Sam and Elizabeth shared a knowing look with a shake of their heads and turned back to watch Peter roll his eyes and grumble under his breath, making Neal laugh even more.

They stood there waiting for agent and consultant, two friends, practically two brothers, to reach them. The relief that they were all walking out together surrounded them and Neal's heartfelt laughter after such a horrific six weeks drove it even closer to home. But it was that moment, the one where Neal's long lost father was standing at the end of the hallway with a woman who he considered just as amazing as Ellen, that they all realized it. Despite the mystery of his father, the desire to get to know him, despite the loving arms of Elizabeth, the acceptance she always gave him, Neal remained close to one person, the one person who would do everything he could to protect him, but let him walk far enough to take dangerous chances. The one person who didn't have the same blood, but had enough spilt on his hands to know how precious it truly was, no matter how tainted Neal believed it to be. One person held enough of _something_ to make Neal stay. One person held that place in Neal's life. Peter Burke held that place and nobody was going to take it away.

Everybody knew it.

* * *

**AN: Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think! **


	5. Wicked Game

**AN: I'm so sorry for not updating in a while! Hopefully some of you are still following and will enjoy this one! It is a little different, but hopefully still enjoyable. Thanks again to everyone who is reading my stories! It means a lot! **

* * *

**Wicked Game**

Neal Caffrey isn't the best conman. He isn't the unsurpassed criminal, the foremost thief. No. There has always been one he could never, will never, beat and he's staring it in the face. Neal Caffrey knows that Fear was, is and always will be, the conman, the criminal and thief he could never be.

* * *

Neal took a step forward, his intentions to follow the retreating back he wanted to have his own. Fear conned his mind, told him lies the heart of his truth would be disappointed to know he believed. His own heart thundered like a train traveling down to its last destination and his breath felt like the gravel being kicked up between the tracks.

"Sam."

The word was as powerful as the puny puff of a train engine. The train kept going, barreling towards the dark tunnel that would separate it from the rest of the world.

"Dad!"

This time his voice was strong, wailing like the train horn that caused everyone to take notice. The train halted, the screech of the brakes came from the gasp that escaped Sam's throat. Neal waited with his pounding chest and the sound of his blood, _his father's blood_, pumping in his ears. The man turned around with eyes still foreign to Neal, but facial features that resembled his own in a worn out way. His father stared back at him, like Neal had once stared at the picture Ellen had shown him that revealed Neal as a little boy and the back of his father he had no memory of.

* * *

"Dad!"

Sam's breath caught in his throat like a firefly in a jar on a Summer night. It had been thirty years since that title had been directed at him. As it rang in his ears, it was hard to believe it was actually his son's voice. Once so light and innocent and stumbling over syllables, it was now marred by the reality of the world and the blow of the hard life he had left for his son to grow up in. _But at least he grew up. _Sam reminded himself like he had every day since he last saw his child. Sam turned around. He may have left Neal all those years ago, but it wasn't because he wanted to. He hadn't been able to explain to his baby that daddy was going away then. He'd be damned if he didn't explain himself now.

He stared at Neal's eyes that looked so much like his mother's, piercing blue with mischief, swirling with disappointment and a hint of something Sam would never understand.

Like someone untwisting the lid of the jar to let the fireflies out, Sam's breath rushed out of his throat. "You look just like her." He saw a dab of hurt swirl in Neal's eyes and swallowed thickly. Ellen had told him how his wife turned out. "Your eyes, I mean."

He saw his son become guarded as he took a step away from him and began to question again if Neal had really called out to him. He stopped walking and sighed.

"What I did...when I left...I didn't want to. But...if there was going to be a chance for this...I had to."

"This?" The question was filled with such accusation that if he hadn't seen his son ask it, he would've thought that the agent standing just a step or two behind Neal had actually been the one to speak.

Sam nodded. "I know you don't see it the way I do...but I just wanted you to have a chance to grow up...to have a chance at life. What they threatened...what they would've done to you...I just couldn't let that happen, Neal. Just like...I can't let it happen now. You're still my son."

* * *

Neal watched his father walk away from him and for a moment he wondered if this was how he left the first time. He took a step forward, but a hand on his arm stopped him. He turned desperate eyes toward his restriction. The train was leaving! Didn't the agent understand? He was going to miss it! He couldn't just let it leave! He couldn't just let his father leave!

"Peter!"

"I'm sorry, Neal."

The words assaulted Neal's ears like the screech of metal. Sorry was such a pitiful word reserved for pitiful people. He shook his head and tried to jerk his arm free, but the agent had him trapped in more ways than one.

"No."

The word fell off Neal's tongue in such a useless state. He jerked again and for a moment he felt heat lick at his neck and ears like he was back on that daunting airstrip where Kate died. The heat was becoming unbearable, rolling down his spine and quivering his legs. He shook in and out of Peter's strong hands, but the man's grasp never let up. The heat swelled off his spine and snaked around his ribs, slithering up his torso and dancing on his chest that throbbed with his pounding heart. The heat rose until it felt blistering, stinging his eyes, burning his throat, but then like a flash of lightning it was replaced with ice. The sound of a gunshot rang through the air and the heat liquified and drain from his body, leaving him frozen.

There was only one source of heat left in his world and he craned his neck back to look up at it. Peter's face had dropped into that same expression Neal had sketched on those mournful and sleepless nights after Kate died. Like a fortune teller, Peter's face told Neal what his world was going to be like in the next few moments and in a second's time Neal relished in his frozen feeling wishing time would do the same. But the heat radiating from Peter's strong grasp around his wrists was slowly melting him back into the cold reality he had just been dealt.

"No."

The word fell off his tongue, but now it meant everything. And Peter understood.

He felt the agent pull him close to his chest, the man's heat melting him faster, and drag him back into the shadows.

* * *

"No."

Peter felt Neal's word like a punch in the gut. But he rolled with it and drew the younger man close, while pulling him back into the building behind them, to keep Neal out of the shooter's path, to keep Neal safe. But Peter couldn't help but wonder if it wasn't supposed to be the other way around. Shouldn't Sam be protecting Neal? He heard Neal muffle another 'no' and felt the shuddered breath on his chest. Peter was glad it wasn't the other way around even if was supposed to be.

He felt his back hit against the wall in the building he had hidden themselves in and finally let Neal's legs buckle while sliding them to the floor. He heard Diana on the radio and pulled Neal closer to him until backup arrived.

* * *

For being in the shadows, there was awful lot of warmth spreading around him. He didn't understand. He shuddered and shook because he knew he should be cold, but he felt warm. He pulled his face away from the shadows he was certain he was hiding in to see Peter staring down at him, his expression telling him exactly what the agent was going to say next.

"I'm sorry, Neal."

Neal flinched, but not for the same reasons as before. He jerked his head away from the agent and noticed the building they were in, before catching his reflection in a nearby window.

He could see his pale complexion highlighted by red-rimmed eyes, but suddenly it morphed and twisted into a sight that caused his breath to catch. He felt Peter pull his head back to his chest, but Neal could still see his reflection in the window from his hiding place in the shadows. His reflection smiles warmly at him, facial lines deepening in the friendliest manner. It's such an encouraging face marred only by time. It's his father's reflection, because he knows he is his father's son. But then the reflection twists just a bit more. It's still his father's face, but it scorns and snickers at him.

He can hear the hissing of the malicious, victorious laughter coming from his father's reflection. It grates his ears and he whimpers like the pitiful sound of an 'I'm sorry' because he just wants it to stop. But he knows it never will because he is his father's son and his father is the aftermath of Fear.

His father is Fear's son and he is his father's son.

_Neal Caffrey isn't the best conman. He isn't the unsurpassed criminal, the foremost thief. No. There has always been one he could never, will never, beat and he's staring it in the face. Neal Caffrey knows that Fear was, is and always will be, the conman, the criminal and thief he could never be. _

The reflection sneers at him once more and cause him to flinch. The shadows are getting deeper it seems. They are engulfing him. But he's okay with it. He twists into the shadows, into Peter's hold, and hides himself from his reflection.

However, he won't remain hidden forever. No. Just long enough until he can change his reflection. Just long enough until he can put his mask back on. The one that allows him to believe he is who Peter wants him to be.

He curls further in because he knows he doesn't have long until his facade is rebuilt.

Soon he will emerge from these shadows to play the game his father lost, the game Neal's played his whole life.

Yes, Neal will leave the shadows one day to play the game Fear is edging him to play and oh, what a wicked game it is.

* * *

**AN: Again, I'm sorry for not updating sooner! There should be a few updates soon! I have a few one-shots started so I just need to finish them up. Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think! :) Have a Happy Thanksgiving!**


	6. Chapter 6

"Where are we going?"

Neal stood at the bottom of June's elegant staircase having just came down them with his usual grace and bounce in his stride. His pearly white, freshly brushed teeth revealed their brilliance between the part of the consultant's conning lips as they turned up in a particular grin reserved for one person.

"Peter," Neal widened his eyes with his persistent question and reached for his fedora on the nearby rack, "where are we going?" His slender fingers ran along the brim as his grin took it's rightful place again.

Peter, with his hands in his jean pockets, leaned forward slightly and took his patented breath of patience for the man in front of him. With lifted eyebrows, Peter spoke through his own curving mouth. "Leave that here. We aren't going anywhere where Cary Grant attire is required."

Neal's head tilted to the side as he turned his mouth down to show his uncertainty. He lifted his own eyebrows higher than the agent's. "How was I supposed to know? You won't tell me where we are going."

"Uh, because I specifically told you to dress casual."

"Perhaps Cary Grant is my casual."

Peter took another patented breath, this one just a bit deeper than the first. "Perhaps I should have said dress in your pajamas then."

Peter held his breath when Neal's grinned deepened. He'd dug himself into a hole.

"What if I sleep nude?"

His eyes rolled on their own accord as if it were second nature to him, which by now Peter didn't doubt that it was. "Luckily, I know where to get an abundance of orange jumpsuits." Just because he'd dug himself into a hole didn't mean he couldn't get out. Neal's teeth hid behind his clamped mouth. "You'd think after all this time you'd have a good comeback for that. Like I don't know, some kind of scheme to get the federal prison system to change the color or -"

"Actually, Mozzie is-"

"No." Peter held up his hand and shook his head authoritatively. "I don't want to know. Now, get in the car."

"Can I at least get coffee first?"

Peter's hand wrapped around Neal's bicep and led him to the front door. "I'm sure you'll manage without it. You've carried out robberies in the dead of night."

"Allegedly, and on a good day's rest and a large cup of coffee."

"Well good thing the coffee was hypothetical, because I'm giving you a whole pot of hypothetical coffee right now. In the car."

Neal pulled the passenger's side door open and glared at Peter over the roof. "Now I know why Elizabeth is so adamant on planning her events on Saturdays. You're too grumpy to be around."

Peter allowed his eyes to roll instead of showing his amusement on his face and got in the car with a sulking consultant.

* * *

"Peter, where are we going?" Neal asked from the confinements of the passenger side of Peter's car, Peter's cold and boring car. Neal clamped his hands together to stop another shiver from wracking his frame. He wouldn't let Peter win. The agent may have turned on the a/c to keep Neal from falling asleep and made some pretty bold threats that kept the conman from turning the talk radio station, but Neal wasn't giving in.

"Neal, haven't we had this conversation already?"

"One of us has. But I still don't know where we are going."

"Then I'd say your plan to annoy me is backfiring. Wouldn't you?"

Instead of Peter rolling his eyes, it was Neal's turn.

* * *

"Did you get lost?" Neal asked as he straightened in his seat while peering cautiously out the window at all the passing trees. He turned to look at Peter and felt his stomach twist when his fears were confirmed with a shake of the agent's head. "Please tell me you got lost."

"No. I didn't get lost. We are almost there."

Neal tried to bite back a groan, but as the car came to a stop at the dead end of the old road in the middle of the woods he just couldn't help but let it out. He watched Peter climb out of the car, but didn't budge. That was, until the older man ducked down to look in the car. "Look, I traveled to Cape Verde to bring you back to New York. The least you could do is quit you're sulking for five minutes and get out of the car, okay?"

"I didn't ask you to." As soon as the words left Neal's mouth, he regretted them. He didn't even mean them. He was just functioning early on a Saturday morning without coffee after a three hour, boring, cold car ride. He had a right to be a little cranky. At least, in his opinion he did.

"Alright then." Peter bit his lip, which Neal appreciated because he knew it meant Peter was keeping his anger in check, and nodded before closing the car door. Neal watched Peter disappear into the woods.

* * *

Three stumbles, two scratches and one fearful thought of a rabid animal stalking him later, Neal emerged out of the woods he had eventually trekked through after feeling bad about saying what he had to Peter. He dusted off his dark jeans and maroon long sleeved shirt as he stumbled out of the trees. Once he got them as clean as he possibly could he glanced up to see just where Peter had brought him to.

He couldn't help but let his jaw drop slightly. In front of him was a massive lake that no painting could ever compete with and a small shack just away from the shore that wasn't grand in economical value, but was probably the richest in fond memories. He spotted Peter standing on a small, rickety-looking dock that went out about eight feet into the lake.

* * *

Peter stood there looking out at the massive lake that held much more than murky water and creatures. In his mind's eye he could see his father sitting out there in the middle of it in that horrid paddle boat they had patched up the summer of his freshman year of high school. The boat he had his first beer in, the boat he had his first real talk about girls in. He sighed. That boat was somewhere at the bottom of the lake now, but the memory had him smiling. It had been a long swim back to shore.

He heard the dock creak behind him, but didn't turn around. "Be careful. This thing is old."

He could almost picture the younger man freeze and look at him. As the seconds passed, he knew Neal was debating on whether to come stand by him or not. Peter wasn't going to assure him it was ok, but he wasn't going to say it wasn't either. When Neal appeared next to him, a part of Peter wondered if that held a deeper meaning.

He watched Neal peer over the side cautiously and was tempted to give him a small shove just to scare him if the overwhelming desire he felt to just shove him on in anyway wasn't outweighing his friendly side. Neal straightened back up and before the conman's eyes looked sideways at him, Peter looked back to the water.

"Peter..."

Peter didn't say anything. Didn't even acknowledge he had said anything. He wanted to force Neal to finish what he started for once. He heard the younger man sigh, before silence fell between them again.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five.

Peter counted the seconds.

Si-

"I'm sorry for what I said back there." He saw Neal shrug his shoulders as he slid his hands into his pockets out of his peripheral vision. Neal seemed to mentally stumble and for a brief second Peter started to feel a little bit bad about giving him such a hard time under the circumstances. Just a little.

"Is this water sanitary to swim in?"

Peter hadn't expected the bizarre question and couldn't help but turn a raised eyebrow towards the younger man.

"I'm just asking because I think some rabid wildebeest was following me on my way here and if it comes running out of the woods I'd like to have my best survival options ready. I haven't been inside the house over there, but I'm no stranger to cons and that could easily be inhabited by an equally disturbing, starving breed of animals no matter how welcoming it looks on the outside. So far the lake, despite it's murky appearance, seems to be the best laid plan."

The agent stared at him for a moment, taking in everything the man just said, trying to determine if he was just trying to ease the awkward situation or actually being serious. He concluded it was probably a little bit of both.

"Yeah, I'd say the lake is your best bet if you can't make it to the house. But as a precaution, I'd try not swallow any water. And snakes might be a bit of an issue, but I think that's a far better way to go than a...rabid wildebeest, you say?"

Neal nodded while relaxing a bit when Peter agreed to stop the silent treatment. "Or maybe just a really fat rabbit."

Peter snorted, and Neal let a grin ease its way onto his face. "So...what is this place?"

Peter let a sigh of his own escape him and ran a hand down his face. "My dad and I, we use to come out here during the Summer when I was growing up. From when I was about eight to twenty-four."

"Why'd you quit coming?"

Silence fell between them and for moment Neal focused on the lapping of the water against the dock so the awkwardness wouldn't creep back in.

"We...had our disagreements."

Neal couldn't help but turn and look up the three inches Peter stood over him.

Peter looked back at him, before turning his head to the side and wiping back around to the water as if psyching himself up to tell the rest of the story. "The last time we were here I told him I had applied for the F.B.I. program."

"He didn't want you to be cop?"

Peter chuckled to himself at the memory only he could see. He shook his head. "It wasn't that he didn't want me to be a cop, necessarily. It was just...he had certain plans for my life. Plans that I didn't follow...that I didn't agree with or understand."

"But you have a good relationship with him now, don't you? Something had to go his way." Neal replied, sticking his hands deeper into his pockets and looking back out at the water.

"I do. And...something did go his way."

Neal looked back up at Peter.

"I grew up safe, happy and made a life for myself. He just wanted what's best for me and as a father he just had a hard time letting me make decisions of my own."

Neal nodded slowly, and looked back to the water when the three inches Peter had on him suddenly seemed to grow. "So why'd we come here?" Neal asked, but he wasn't sure he wanted the answer. He could feel awkwardness starting to creep up again and something about the conversation about fathers had him feeling smothered.

"I just wanted to..." Peter cut himself off, not ready to commit what he really wanted to say. He found an escape route. "to get something out of the house. It'll only take a few minutes for me to find. You're welcome to come in if you want, or you can stay out here with your wildebeest...or rabbit, whichever it is."

Neal looked back over his shoulder to the woods, then back at Peter. He saw his opportunity to escape the father shrugged his shoulders. "If it won't take you long...I'm sure I'll be fine. But you know just in case I think we should have a code word or something in case it decides to keep me company."

Peter pretended to think about it for a second before walking off the dock. "I'll just listen for a splash."

* * *

"Peter!"

Peter nearly had a heart attack as Neal's voice unexpectedly broke through the silence of the small house followed by the slamming of the front door. The agent closed his eyes trying to reign in his anger and slow his heart. "Dammit, Neal! That wildebeest better have ripped your arm off!" He called from where he was standing in the kitchen looking through a drawer, before grumbling under his breath, "Give a man a heart attack." He heard Neal come into the kitchen rather quickly and when he glanced up at him, it caused him to do a double take. The younger man stood there breathing heavily and soaking wet.

Silent seconds went by with only the sound of water droplets dripping off of Neal and onto the floor filled the air until Peter bursted into laughter.

* * *

Neal's jaw dropped as he stared at Peter doubled over in laughter.

"Fortunately, I still have both my arms because I needed them to swim when the dock collapsed." Neal grounded out between his clenched jaw. This only caused Peter to laugh harder. "I'm glad you find my near death experience humorous."

"Oh, come on," Peter teased between laughs, "that's overstating it a little."

"The humorous part?" Neal shot back knowing full well that's not what the older man meant.

"The near death part." Peter replied through a deep breath, his laughter dying off though his face was blood red and eyes were watery. He caught Neal's never-ending glare and rolled his eyes while another few snorts of laughter escaped him. "Are you okay?"

"Now you ask?"

"Neal." Peter warned as he walked over to where Neal was standing. He had to bite his lip to keep from laughing again when Neal clenched his jaw and muttered a quick 'yes' in response. "You're sure?"

"Yes." Neal replied more agitated, but took a step back and looked away from the agent when he felt laughter tugging at the corners of his mouth. Silence fell between them again and he could feel Peter staring at him. With a quick look out of his peripheral vision, he could see the older man still grinning at him and that's all it took.

Neal busted out laughing. Peter quickly joined in.

"I thought you were going to listen for a splash?"

"I wished I had heard it." Peter shot back laughing harder.

Neal rolled his eyes. "Did you at least find whatever it was you were looking for so we can leave?"

"Yeah I found it." Peter jerked his head in the direction of the hallway. "Come on, let's go see if we can find you some dry clothes. There might be a few things back here in the bedroom."

"Uh, no. No. That's okay." Neal quickly stated, mortified at the idea of wearing clothes that had been in the same place for twenty years and were no doubt not his style.

"Neal, it's four hours back to the city. You're not going to make it in wet clothes. Besides, I'm not going to let you get in my car like that. Now, come on."

* * *

Neal sat on the edge of the bed trying to stop the shivers running through his body as he peeled off his soaked shirt while Peter rummaged through the closet looking for something for him to put on.

"Well, you're in luck. There's a couple of my old things in here." Peter tossed a t-shirt, a sweater and a pair of shorts at the younger man who picked them up with a finger and a thumb, holding them out like a disease.

"You expect me to wear this? It has holes in it." Neal asked as he inspected an old, faded Yankees t-shirt.

"Which is why I gave you the sweater to put over it."

"Can't I just wear the sweater?" Neal questioned, before actually picking it up.

"You could but it's kind of scratchy. My great aunt made it for me."

Neal felt the sweater and looked back up at Peter. "The sweater is probably what put the holes in this shirt in the first place."

Peter snorted and lightly hit Neal in the arm on his way out of the bedroom.

"Get changed while I go find you something for your feet."

* * *

Peter stood in the living room checking his watch. Neal had been changing for ten minutes. Suddenly, the thought that Neal might have actually gotten hurt crossed his mind and he made his way back to the bedroom. He knocked on the closed door.

"Neal? You okay in there?"

He heard quiet shuffling. "Uh...yeah. I'm good."

Peter wasn't convinced. "I'm coming in."

"No, don't-" But Neal's protest were cut short when Peter opened the door and stopped short.

For the second time that day, Peter busted out laughing.

Standing there in red shorts that rested just above his knees, and a plaid sweater with yellow, green and navy and the bottom of the white t-shirt sticking out around the bottom was a horrified Neal Caffrey.

"Peter, I can't wear this."

Peter caught the miserable look crossing Neal's face and did his best to quit laughing. "You have no choice. But look, it's not like anyone is going to see you. Okay?"

"Peter."

"Look if there were any other options I would give them to you, but there aren't any. However, I did find some socks for you to wear." The agent tossed the material to his consultant and watched the younger man miserably pull them on with trembling hands.

"You sure you're okay?"

Neal nodded and wiped at his nose, before standing up. "Yeah, just cold."

* * *

Peter walked a few steps behind Neal who trudged through the woods in some old boots that were two sizes too big because Neal's shoes were soaked. He was doing his best not to snicker at the poor conman's luck, but it seemed that the universe wasn't on his side, or Neal's considering the younger man suddenly stumbled for the tenth time and caught himself on the trunk of a tree. Neal only offered a glare in Peter's direction before stomping off again.

Peter took that opportune moment to pull out his cell phone and take a picture.

* * *

For the umpteenth time, Peter glanced over at his consultant who was busy squirming in the passenger seat as they made their way back home. "You didn't happen to fall in an ant hill when we were walking back to the car, did you?"

Peter smiled when he received another glare. If only he had a penny for everyone.

"You're great aunt didn't happen to make this sweater out of cactus needles, did she?"

"Just take it off already." Peter replied, but when he didn't get the witty response or dirty joke from Neal that he had expected he started to feel just a little guilty for enjoying Neal's lack of luck during this trip.

Neal practically ripped the sweater off and threw it in the backseat before looking down at himself. His skin was red from scratching it so much and he wrinkled his nose at the shirt hanging a bit loosely from his body.

"I look like I've been sprayed with battery acid." Neal muttered miserably before leaning his head against the window and closing his eyes.

Peter decided it was best not to respond and continued on down the road. A few minutes passed and the agent was convinced the younger man had fallen asleep, but suddenly Neal's voice, nothing above a mutter though, was filtering through the car.

"Peter?"

"Hmm?"

"What was it that you were looking for back there?"

"Oh. A picture." Peter looked over at his consultant just in time to see him crack one eye open.

"A picture?" Neal asked a bit dumbfounded.

"Yeah."

Silence fell between them and Neal's eye closed. A few more minutes passed before Neal spoke up again.

"Peter."

"Yeah?"

"The next time you go looking for a picture out in the middle of nowhere please, please just put me on house arrest."

Peter chuckled softly and looked over at Neal who sat curled up in his seat, eyes closed and still shivering. He turned up the heat as high as it would go despite the sweat rolling down his own back.

"Sure thing, buddy."

* * *

Elizabeth walked through the front door and stopped short at the sight of Neal Caffrey hanging halfway off her couch asleep with multiple covers piled on top of him. Just as her eyebrow raised in questioning, her husband appeared in front of her.

"Long story. But I have something that will sum it all up. Come here." He whispered, and pulled her along into the kitchen and pointed to the refrigerator.

Elizabeth was in awe at first, but then like Peter, busted out laughing.

* * *

Neal woke up in the darkness of the Burke's house. A look at the clock told him why. 5:45 am. He groaned at the pressure in his head caused by his sinuses and swallowed thickly until the dryness of his throat stopped him. Slowly, Neal stood from the couch and let the lightheadedness pass before walking into the kitchen. Quietly, he grabbed a glass from the cabinet and sleepily opened the refrigerator door. He poured some orange juice into his glass and shut the door. He stood there leaning against the counter drinking his orange juice until he noticed something on the appliance. Two pictures. One of a young Peter wearing none other than the awfully scratchy sweater Neal had worn yesterday and looking anything but happy about it as an older man, no doubt his father due to easily recognizable resemblance, stood beside him laughing. Neal felt the corner of his mouth lift up, before he spotted the next picture, a picture of himself in that dreadful sweater, the red shorts he still wore and the awkward boots he had worn.

Neal wanted to be mad, but he at the same time he just couldn't be.

He stood there a few more moments, before writing a quick note and placing it on the fridge's door.

* * *

Peter came down the stairs that morning to find an unexpected empty couch.

"Neal?" He called as he walked into the kitchen. "Neal?"

He stopped short when he spotted the note on the refrigerator.

_Went home to get ready for work and put on delicately made clothes._

_Pick me up on your way in. It's the least you could do after taking this picture._

_-Neal_

Peter furrowed his brow with concern and briefly wondered if he should be worried that Neal hadn't taken the photo and destroyed it. He had expected the younger man to, so had made copies. But then again, Neal probably knew he had made copies so Peter thought nothing of it and went to go get dressed.

* * *

Peter knocked on Neal's door.

"It's open." Came a gravely reply from the other side. The agent stepped through the door and spotted Neal sitting at the dining room table.

"You don't sound too good."

"Just a cold. At least a wildebeest didn't rip off my arm." Neal replied with a shrug of his shoulders and a small smirk. Peter saw a small glint of Neal's usual mischief swirling around in his peaked eyes.

"You could take a sick day."

"I'm fine, Peter."

"Okay. But you're still not going to work today."

"What? Why?" Neal stood a little too quickly and latched on to the corner of the table.

Peter moved forward and pushed him back down in his seat.

"One: because you're sick. Two: because it's Sunday."

Neal tilted his head as if thinking about it before mouthing a soft 'oh'.

"Yeah." Peter chuckled. "Have you taken some medicine?"

Neal raised an eyebrow at the agent's mother hen-ish behavior. "Yes, but could you get me something to drink?"

"Yeah, sure. What do you want?" Peter asked as he made his way over to the refrigerator after grabbing a glass, but then he spotted it. A picture on the appliance door that had not been there before. A picture of Peter back in the day with his mustache hung from a magnet. The agent tried to bite his lip to keep from smiling but it was no use. He shook his head and sat down at the table across from Neal.

"You'll never get over that picture will you?"

Neal chuckled though it sounded wet and shook his head. "Oh come on, Peter. It makes you look more...authoritative."

"So if I had a mustache you'd do what I tell you?"

Neal frowned in thought and leaned his head to the side. "No, probably not."

Peter teasingly glared at the conman and smiled. "You know that sweater really brings out a humbleness to you."

"You great aunt should make the new prison uniforms."

Peter chuckled. "Yeah, I'll mention it at Christmas."

Silence fell between them again, before Peter leaned his elbows on the table and kept his gaze on his twiddling thumbs. "Listen Neal, the reason I took you out there yesterday..."

Neal let his own gaze wander about the apartment for a moment before resting it on the table like the man in front of him who had yet to finish his sentence.

"Was...because...well I just wanted you to..." Peter sighed. "This whole thing with Sam-"

"I get it, Peter." Neal suddenly cut him off without lifting his gaze. Peter finally looked at up at him. Now with a flushed face and peaked eyes, Neal looked just like how Peter expected he felt, but before he had a cold. He knew that Neal was having a hard time dealing with Ellen's death sure, but he also knew that he was having a hard time dealing with his new found father, who, if Peter was really honest with himself, he didn't quite trust.

"Look, I'm here to help you find the answers you're looking for, that you deserve, but..."

"You don't trust him." Neal's gaze suddenly locked on Peter's and for a second the agent felt like he was back at the first time he ever met Neal face to face and unable to read him. He tensed and sucked in a breath before blowing it out and relaxing.

"No. I don't." Peter stared at Neal for a few seconds waiting for a response but the conman only stared back. "Look. Whatever he's involved in, guilty or not, it involves dangerous people and I just..."

"Have a hard time letting me make decisions of my own?" Neal finished for him with a slight smirk as both of them recalled Peter's story on the dock. Whether Peter's cheeks reddened or not, neither man would acknowledge it.

"Maybe."

They both laughed and looked anywhere but each other until Neal suddenly spoke up.

"Thank you, Peter. Not for the sweater, but you know."

Peter snorted. "Yeah, I know. You're welcome. So, unless you're dead set on working on mortgage fraud cases on a Sunday, El's making lunch if you want to come. She also washed your clothes. They came out okay, but I hate to tell you, buddy but your shoes didn't make it."

Neal pretended to mourn while placing a hand over his chest before looking up at Peter. "I don't really have much of an appetite, Peter." He noticed the slight look of disappointment cross the older man's face and despite the fact he felt like crap he relented. "But if you promise not to take me on another one of your ventures and Elizabeth tells embarrassing stories from your childhood I'll take you up on the invite."

Peter smiled and nodded. "And I'll even let you grab a cup of coffee on the way out this time."

"Ooh, small miracles." Neal replied sarcastically as he eased himself out of his chair and headed towards the door.

Peter smiled to himself and patted Neal on the back. "Yeah, small miracles."

* * *

**AN: I just wanted to write a little fluffy piece after the rather dark one before this. Hope you enjoyed it! Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think! :)**


	7. Untitled - 81111

**I know I'm not updating regularly and I apologize. Life sometimes prevents me from doing so. However I haven't abandoned this story or The Book. I'm trying to clean up the documents section on my computer and put them all in neat little folders before I add anymore new ones, but the problem is that there are hundreds of little documents all floating about, some finished and some not, some recent, some really old (like this one if from a year ago). There are White Collar stories, Suits stories and a few other categories. So there may be some really random one-shots posted soon. Anyway, this is an old one, not much too it, I think I just wanted to write some fluff at the time or something. haha!**

* * *

Untitled - 8/11/11

Peter walked into his dining room carrying two beers. He took a drink from one and handed the other to agent Phillip Kramer as he sat down at the table across from him. The two just drank quietly till Phillip spoke.

"Peter, tell me. Why do you deal with that kid?" He asked.

Peter bit his bottom lip, then clenched his jaw. He took a long sip of his beer before speaking.

"What do you mean?"

Agent Kramer laughed. "Well, I mean Neal is a criminal, convicted felon! The Peter I knew, wouldn't have let someone like that in his home, let alone into his life."

Peter sighed. "People can change Phil. Agents and felons."

"Peter, he can never be like us. He'll never become one of us."

Peter placed his beer on the table and stood up.

"I don't want him to be!"

Agent Kramer furrowed his brow.

"What do you mean? You've been trying to get him to do right by the law, see things your way."

"Yeah. I'm trying to get him right with the law, not be the law." Peter replied. When Agent Kramer looked at him with a confused expression, Peter continued.

"I remember taking him to an art museum a few months after he watched his girlfriend, Kate, die right in front of him. I thought it would do him some good. Anyway, we get there and he's walking in front of me, saying more while we are there than he had said in the last month. He's talking about artists, histories and dropping hints about stolen paintings, but nothing incriminating of course." Peter laughed, then continued. "I'm not really paying attention, though. I'm busy watching him like a hawk, making sure he doesn't try anything, but the more I watch him the less I start worrying about him stealing anything." Peter paused a minute, staring at the couch, then turned back around to Phil.

"It was like we were back in time, before Kate died. He stood up straight. He walked with his normal spring in his step. His eyes, they just lit up the moment we walked inside the museum. He talked so fast, with such enthusiasm, it was hard to keep up. All it took was taking him to an art exhibit, and he was in another world, his world where everything was okay for him, where he was okay."

"Peter, why are you telling me this?" Kramer asked.

"If Neal became like us, he would lose that world. He would lose who he really is. He wouldn't be Neal Caffrey anymore. I don't want that."

Kramer was surprised.

"Oh come on, Peter! You mean to tell me you want Neal to stay the same conning, devious, lying kid that he is? I know you, Peter. That's not you."

"You're right. I don't want want him to con or lie anymore." Peter said.

Agent Kramer smiled. "See."

"But you're wrong too." Peter said, turning to look at his couch, where Neal was sleeping. Elizabeth walked into the living room and briefly shared a small, worried smile with him before turning her attention to Neal. Peter watched her feel Neal's forehead for a temperature and check his stitches. He, then turned back to Phil.

"You don't know me." His voice was angry, and low. "Not anymore."

Kramer chuckled uncomfortably and waited for Peter to continue.

"When you were my mentor, I would have done anything to get the job done. Nothing mattered except the case, the job. I just wanted to close cases, impress you."

"And you don't want to do those thing now?" Kramer asked.

"No. Because now I have a family. A family that means more to me than my job. I still want to close cases. I still want to get the job done. The only difference is that now I don't do irrational things to get the job done. I'm not bending over backwards to impress anybody anymore."

"That's understandable, Peter. You're not a rookie anymore. So how do I not know you?"

Peter stepped closer. Kramer sat in his chair looking up at him.

"Because, you thought that I would be okay with you dangling Neal like a worm on a hook in front Vega, just so we could catch the guy."

"Burke, I didn't throw him out like bait. We were right there, backing him up. We had agents all over the place!"

"Yeah?! And how did that work out?" Peter asked, but agent Kramer didn't respond.

"If you had really been backing him up, he wouldn't be lying on my couch with seventy-three stitches, an infection and a broken arm."

"Peter. You act like we lost him! You act like he's an agent, for crying out loud!"

Peter clenched his fists and stared at Kramer for a few seconds.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Peter pronounced the question slow, anger drenching his words.

"He's a criminal, Peter. He's just like the guys we were trying to catch-"

"Neal isn't a murderer. He doesn't torture people. He doesn't kidnap them. He's nothing like Vega."

"But he's a criminal, a consultant at most. He's not an agent-"

Peter cut him off.

"He's not expendable, Kramer."

"Peter, listen-"

"No." Peter once again cut him off. Now towering over Kramer, pointing a finger at the man who use to be his mentor. "You listen. I use to look up to you. I respected you. I became the agent I wanted to be, because of you. You were like a second father to me when I first started out. While Neal may be a convicted felon for bond forgery, he's still my consultant, my partner. And like you did for me, I'm trying to mentor him and guide him. You want to know why I deal with him? He's my family, whether you agree with it or not, and I'll be damned if I stand aside and let you toss him around like a puppet."

Kramer picked up his beer and drank the last few sips. He sat the bottle down on the table and stood up.

"I'm sorry you feel that way, Peter." He said as he walked to the door. He looked at Peter one last time and left.

Peter sighed heavily, running his hands over his face. He then turned his attention to his wife who was running her hand through Neal's hair softly speaking to him, but Peter couldn't hear her.

He walked over to the couch and sat down carefully on the edge. He looked at Neal for a moment, taking in the ex-conman's battered, almost unrecognizable face, then turned his attention to his wife.

"I did the right thing, right?" He asked.

She gave a small smile, her hand never leaving Neal's hair, but with the other she touched the side of her husband's face.

"What does your gut tell you?" She asked.

Peter sighed and looked back at Neal.

"That I did the right thing."

Peter confirmed as he gently patted Neal's leg.

"Is he okay?"

"Yeah, his fever is still at 101, but he's sleeping better than earlier. I'll need to wake him up so he can take his medicine though." Elizabeth answered, twisting one of Neal's dark curls between her fingers.

Peter watched her for a second, a smile spreading across his face as her watched the paternal affection unfold.

"You go get his medicine and I'll wake him up." Peter said.

Elizabeth looked at him in understanding, then stood up, kissed Peter's cheek and left.

"Neal." Peter called, laying a hand on Neal's less bruised shoulder. "Neal. Wake up, buddy."

The younger man's eyes fluttered open and he shivered due to the fever and curled up underneath the blanket that was covering him.

"Peter?"

"Yeah it's me. You have to take your medicine." Peter stated as he watched Neal look around the room.

"Where's agent Kramer?"

"He left." Peter answered and sighed. "Neal...I'm sorry. I didn't know-"

"It's ok, Peter." Neal cut him off. "It wasn't your fault and agent Kramer was just doing his job. We had to catch Vega somehow and I didn't have to sit in the van. Although, the ride to the hospital wasn't any better. I'd probably pick the van over that, but whatever." Neal babbled, probably due to his fever and the medicine he was on.

"Neal." Peter stopped him. "What Kramer did... that wasn't right. I would never..."

"I know, Peter. You wouldn't do that to me." Neal smiled at him, a goofy, almost high expression on his face.

"You're right. I wouldn't."

"But that's why I don't care, you know."

"What do you mean?" Peter asked, thinking Neal's fever now had him talking out of his head.

"I don't care if I'm put out as bait."

Peter sighed, guilt twisting his stomach.

"Why's that, Neal?"

Neal waited a moment, his eyes closed leading Peter to believe he'd fallen back asleep.

"Because the fish will try to bite, some may even get a piece, but you'll always reel me back in, always get me out of the water." Neal explained. "Just like I'd do for you."

The younger man didn't open his eyes and Peter didn't respond.

"So was your gut right?" Elizabeth asked, now standing behind him, her arms wrapped around his shoulders and her head resting against his. They both stared down at the young criminal that had easily became a member of their small family, before Peter answered her.

"Definitely."

* * *

**AN: Again it was written over a year ago...not much meat to it...just fluff. Thanks for reading. Let me know what you think**


	8. Rock Bottom Part 1

**Here's another document I found. This is part one of two parts. Part two is under construction and will be posted at a later date when complete. **

Rock Botton Part 1

Rock bottom is often regarded as a dark place with air so thick of desolation and hopelessness that it's hard to breathe. Broken dreams mold cracks in the foundation below and fears swirl in a cold mist above your head.

"You need to hit rock bottom before you can change." Neal's own voice whispered inside his head, the conversation coming back to him full force from the Robin Hoodie case.

Neal blinked against the darkness surrounding him. Neal had hit rock bottom hard. The problem was he wasn't changing. He didn't need to.

"What are you going to do, Caffrey?" A gruff voice called from the corner before stepping into the luminance of the only light in the room. The man was heavy set, but not out of shape by any means. Every time he got close to Neal, the conman did his best not to imagine the man taking his arms or legs and snapping them like twigs. Scars marred his face, giving a summary of a bad past Neal didn't want to know about or add to.

Neal swallowed hard and felt the tips of his shoes drag against the ground as his hanging body swayed ever so slightly at the trembling in his wrists and arms from where they were bound by rope around the ceiling rafters. The man stepped closer, making a fist that cracked his knuckles. The bruises already painting Neal's skin ached as if they too could tell what was about to happen.

"I'll ask you again." The man snarled as he grabbed Neal's chin so he couldn't turn away. "Where's Agent Burke?"

Despite his battered body, Neal looked him square in the eye and graciously accepted what would come to him.

"I'll refuse to tell you." Neal spat with a bloodied grin. "_Again." _

Neal did his best to check out of reality as a pair of fists drilled into battered ribs.

* * *

"Let's see if you've come to your senses, shall we?"

Neal just let his head hang between his bounded arms until the man grabbed his hair and pulled it up. He did his best to glare through half lidded eyes as he bit back a groan.

"Where's Agent Burke?"

Neal set his jaw.

The man turned his head to the side in surprise. "I thought you'd be smarter than this, Caffrey."

Neal was barely conscious enough to recognize the fist connecting to his cheek bone.

"Remember Caffrey, you did this to yourself. All you had to do was use that tongue of yours."

The man walked over to his hanging body once more and Neal did his best to still his trembling form. The knife in the man's hand shined brightly in the dull light of the room. It came up and traced his jawline before resting against the corner of his mouth. "I guess since you won't use it, you won't be needing it."

Neal turned his head away but only for the man's hand to come up and catch his chin to force it back. A whimper ghosted across Neal's lips as the blade ran threateningly across them.

"What's the matter, Caffrey?" The man's chuckle echoed through the room and it made Neal shudder.

"O-ok! Okay! I- I will tell...tell you wh-where he is!"

"A little late for that."

"Y-you want...to kn-know where h-he is...if...if I d-don't tell you...wh-who will?"

"I'm sure we could find where the FBI is hiding that precious wife of his. We could flip her real fast."

"B-but I'll tell y-you now."

The man smirked as his hand tightened around Neal's chin. "If you lie to me, your tongue won't be the only thing I cut off. Understood?"

Neal swallowed thickly and let his gaze wander just behind the man for a moment longer as if trying to decide what to do. Neal nodded.

"Good. Now, where is our dear friend Peter?"

Neal sucked in a shaky breath, before setting a dark gaze on the man. "Behind you."

"Wha-" The man's question was cut off by a butt of a gun slamming into his temple.

* * *

"Jesus, Neal!" Peter said as his hands cautiously hovered just above the younger man's battered body hanging from the rafters by his wrists. He felt the tremors in his fingers as he prepared himself to touch damaged flesh. The thought twisted the air in his throat and it caught in his windpipe. "When will you ever learn to do as you're told and stay in the van?" Peter's voice did its best to convey humor and a sense of calmness, but the tremors in his unsure fingers rode out the panic on his voice. He placed a hand on the side of Neal's face and had to swallow hard as his hand slipped against the pale skin stained with blood. His fingers wrapped gently around the younger man's neck while his thumb rested on his bruised cheekbone. The fingers on his left hand felt for a pulse while he stared at Neal's closed eyelids, but something else reassured Peter that Neal was still alive.

"W-when you don't show up."

The response was so choked and tight that it barely reached the agent's ears, but the injured man's jaw was in Peter's palm and the older man felt the slight movement as Neal had tried to speak.

"Diana! He's conscious! Get a paramedic in here now! Jones! Help me get him down!" Peter yelled over his shoulder. He didn't miss feeling the slight flinch that ran through the younger man as he did so. He lowered his voice back to being just above a whisper. "Hey, it's alright. It's alright, Neal. We're going to get you down. Just stay with me. Okay?"

He felt the tremors in Neal's frame surge as Jones walked up holding a chair to stand on so he could cut the ropes around Neal's wrists that had him dangling from the rafters.

"Neal, can you do that for me?" Peter insisted, as he watched Jones grab the rope above Neal's hands. "We're going to get you down and try to be as gentle as possible, but it might be a little painful. But I need you to stay with me, got it?" Neal's frame shook harder but the young man didn't respond. "Neal?" He tried a little more forceful. "Do you understand?" Peter felt a brief nod in his hand placed on the side of Neal's face. He looked up at Jones and gave him the go ahead nod. "Be easy, but do it quickly. He's going into shock."

Jones brought the knife to the rope and sawed away with one hand while the other held the rope. Peter wrapped an arm around Neal's lower waist to catch him, but suddenly the consultant's eyes sprang open as he tried to muffle the scream trying to escape him.

Whether the blood on his lips was already there or Neal drew it out by biting it, Peter couldn't be sure, but the agent didn't have time to dwell on it because Neal's unconscious body was falling away from the rafters.

* * *

AN: Part 2 will be posted at a later date. (May not be the the next chapter that's posted though.)


	9. The Stories That Bind Us

**AN: Rock Bottom Part 2 will still be posted sometime later. Sorry for breaking it up. This is an unrelated one-shot that was originally going to be chapter one of this series, but I ended up not posting it until now. **

* * *

**The Stories That Bind Us**

Neal sometimes thinks the world is the best conman. How else does the Earth seem to be falling apart, yet display a scene more prepossessing than one created from the tips of paintbrushes held by the world's most famous painters, and forgers?

Neal stood on the sidewalk, staring up at the shade of blue stretching across the sky that Ellen had claimed to be subdued compared to the blue of his very own eyes. He almost felt the very color of them dim at the thought. A bird caught his attention as it raced across the top of the atmosphere, the slick black feathers of its wings reminding the world that not all things can look as beautiful as they really are. Like a conman's heart caged by something he can't even begin to understand. The bird disappeared behind a nearby building as it searched, like Neal himself use to do in the dead of night on the hunt for something more valuable in the hands of something less.

Both are noble, but only one of them, the world understands, the world lets roam free.

More birds appeared in the sky and Neal took that moment to change his view.

The soles of his shoes left the sidewalk and landed on the steps. It was the only way he could accept where he had ended up. The cracks in the concrete made him wonder if they represent who they belong to, or just taunt him with hope. They appeared old and weary, but never made a complaint as if they had no regrets, so Neal couldn't be sure. He wasn't for certain he wanted to find out which is why he stared at the door the steps led up to. It was immaculate, compared to the surface the soles of his shoes rested on. It had a way of poisoning him with temptation, more than world's most impossible theft ever could. His heart wanted to touch it, but his head reminded him of the dangers, the consequences of doing so. But when had he ever denied his heart?

His hand pressed against the wood. Whether it was another luring tactic or just a simple truth, Neal's hand seemed to fit perfectly against the solid barrier as if it had been there all his life.

He didn't have the time to dwell, or second guess his actions. The barrier was pulled away from his hand, too quickly for his unstable frame. He wobbled on his legs like a child testing out the limbs for the first time, before he felt something steady him. Hands that appeared to be made for the very help they provided wrapped around his upper arms. His eyes slowly trailed them back to their owner and felt himself shutter at the uncanny scenario. The desire to remember the burning memory the owner was trapped in had him shuttering. The hands dropped from his arms.

"Sorry." The word felt strange rolling off his tongue and it hung in the air with the uncertainty it produced. Neal had mumbled it without much direction, so its implied apologetic target was lost on the man in front of him. The man stared back at him and suddenly all temptation and desire was gone and Neal wanted to follow. He turned quickly and made the steps catch his escaping feet.

"Almost."

It was kind of like the steps had said it. As if they caught him by the ankle and wouldn't let go, because Neal froze, unable to move. He turned, cautious of his foot trapped on the step.

"What?"

He was looking at the man, but the muttered question was spoken just in case it wasn't him who asked.

"I said almost." The man smirked and it caused a jumbled mess to start sloshing around in Neal's mind, like pouring black dye into water and watching it twist and curl into the molecules. "That's what I would tell you when you first tried to start walking. You'd stumble towards me and I'd catch you by the arms, telling you 'Almost. One day you'll get it.' I guess you don't remember that."

The black dye swirled quicker. Memories bursting out in the patches still clear, until nothing but the black was visible. Neal shook his head.

The man nodded his head once. "Well, if it helps any, you react just the same way now as you did then. Running off, I mean. Only then, of course, it was crawling." He shrugged his shoulders.

Neal jerked his foot from the step, but it might have as well been molded into the concrete of the step. He turned back to face the man instead. "Even though I can't remember it, it's probably a safe bet to say that I did that because I was scared you were going to push me away again."

The man stepped out of the threshold and onto the porch. "I only did that because I had to. And I hoped that once you learned, you'd realize I did it for your own good. Never to hurt you."

"Yeah, well you miss a lot when your back is turned." Neal spat back.

"Likewise." Whether Neal was just use to the way a lie sounded or the man really had a point, the honest truth of the word punched Neal in the gut. What had he missed when he was too busy crawling or running away? Most people only let their true emotions show when they think no one is looking, so what were his father's while staring at his retreating back? Neal would never know unless he turned around to find out.

But what would it mean to know? To know that the man you're stumbling towards, is going to push you away when you get to him even though it breaks his heart to see you struggle and fail? To know he has such strong faith in you that he'll push you away as many times as he needs to so you'll learn what you need to? To know he will push you away and let you hate him, if it means you're still alive to do so? To know the only thing that matters to him is that you have the very life he gave you, while his is tearing at the seams? To know he has loved you your entire life, even when you couldn't remember him, thought he was someone else, hated him, been afraid of him or just standing in front of him showing him you don't know if you could ever love him back?

Neal wondered if it would be like the stories Peter tells of his own father. If he would have stories that he wasn't ashamed of telling, or didn't have to leave out any details to. Would he be a man like Peter? Neal mentally shook his head. He knew he never would be, and he was glad Peter didn't expect that of him, or even want it. All Peter wanted was what was best for Neal, and if that included stories with less detail, a little more secrecy, Peter didn't mind as long as Neal was making an effort to learn the stories of his own life, for ever how scary they really are.

So Neal turned around to find those stories, because the time he told Peter about a dark memory from his childhood, Peter hadn't judged him then. Peter just wrapped an arm around his shoulders and said, "The scary tales of our lives are the ones that get us to the really good ones. Without those, you wouldn't even know what the good ones are. They are the stories that make us human. They are the stories that got us here to this very moment. And from now on...all the scary stories...are the stories that bind us."

So if finding out the scary story of his blood family bound him even closer to what he considered his real one, then bravery was nothing more than listening.

* * *

**AN: Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think! **


	10. Rock Bottom Part 2

**AN: Thanks for reading and for the reviews, follows and alerts. It means a lot! School started back up so this took me awhile to get it posted. So sorry! I hope this chapter doesn't disappoint, and you enjoy it. **

* * *

**Rock Bottom Part 2**

He was running.

He couldn't feel his heart pounding in his ribcage or hear the soles of his Italian leather shoes hit the pavement, but he knew he was running. The caress of the wind was absent upon his skin as he ran, but the city, as beautiful and captivating as it was, was reduced to nothing more than a blur.

He was running faster than he ever had in his life. When the muscles in one's legs don't mimic the flames of hell, a person can run as fast as their heart so desires. The aspiration in his golden boy heart hidden behind a joker's mask carried him quick. But the dogs were still on his heels.

Dogs. Black, strong and vicious even without the foam at their snarling mouths. They were after him, chasing after one of their own. Their teeth ripped the hem of his pants, bored into his ankle and drawing the blood from his torn skin. He was on the ground without feeling the impact and looking up at the gnashing teeth of the beast on top of him. The white foam descended down from the slimy corners of a hungry mouth and onto his neck, running down like fondling fingers. He cringed, before forcing his eyes open, staring at the black orbs savoring him.

_You know Caffrey, _the voice belonging to the man that had strung him up from the rafters whispered in his ear, _you may have been let off your leash but you're still in a fenced in yard. And sure, you've got an owner that scratches you behind the ears from time to time and let's you inside when it gets too cold out, but you're still a mutt. Nuzzle the owners, but when their backs are turned sink your teeth into something that isn't yours or shit on the carpet. Now, if you don't tell me where that mutt-loving Agent Burke is, well...let's just say I'm going to enjoy the sound of the pathetic little whimper from a kicked puppy. _

Then he felt it. The pain churning in his sides, the grinding of ribs loud and excruciating. And that's all he could do. Whimper, soft and shallow like a mutt left out in the rain. He stared up at the dog on top of him and saw his reflection in the ebony of pupils. He was milliseconds away from allowing the craving teeth the pleasure of sinking into his flesh when suddenly the dog backed away.

The sound of another voice, much more forceful and loud than the previous voice, must have scared it off. To be honest, it scared him too.

* * *

Peter was on his knees at Neal's side. The younger man was lying on his back, eyes opened in slits, staring at something Peter, nor Diana could see. His calloused hands shook as they hovered over Neal's battered body like a rookie holding his drawn weapon on a suspect for the first time.

"Boss?" Diana questioned him, not his actions. The sound coming from between them was pitiful and almost familiar. It reminded Peter of the time Satchmo stepped on a nail while they were doing some home repairs a few years back. Whimpering, scared and uncertain, begging for someone just to do something.

Peter's hands stopped shaking and found Neal's grimy, matted hair.

"Easy, Buddy. Easy. Just take it easy. We're here, okay? We're going to take care of you. It's almost over." The mantra spilled easily from his tongue, it was like acting out the memory of taking care of Satchmo except his chest felt ten times heavier now than it did then. He felt compelled to say more when the whimpering didn't subside, but Diana was staring at him as if he said anymore he would make their situation all too real.

"I'm going to check on the ambulance, see how far out they are." Her voice was stern, though Peter knew it was her way of still feeling in control. He didn't bring up the fact that two minutes ago Jones had come over the radio and said they were ten minutes out. He just let her go, never taking his attention from Neal.

The ex-con eyes had drifted to the side, unfocused and alarming still staring at the remainder of the rope that had previously bound him and a pool of blood that had once ran through his veins. Peter gently felt around the younger man's neck for the thready pulse beneath discolored skin.

"Hey. Come on, Kid. Eyes on me, alright?"

Blown pupils were turned towards him without any direction, but he felt compelled to smile at the effort.

"There. See? Better already, huh? Tell me I'm wrong."

Neal flinched and whimpered louder.

* * *

Neal tried to follow the dog as it retreated, just to make sure it wasn't a trick. He watched its stoic body disappear into the shadows, before he felt another presence at his side. He turned his head to look, but nothing was there except a faint blur. There was a sound in his ears, like the swarming of bees, then like the sound of gunfire Peter's voice was there.

"Tell me I'm wrong."

He flinched. The shadows swarmed and swiveled until he was at June's two years ago, standing in front of Peter with a heart cracking underneath his skin with each mention of Kate or the music box. He shrugged his shoulders with physical ease, but they were heavy otherwise.

"You're wrong."

He hadn't lied. He had just obeyed. Obeyed a command like any needy, desperate dog would do.

A laugh of disbelief was his reward. It felt good, knowing there was still a challenge. Of all the tricks he could do, only an owner was capable of knowing whether or not it was his best. Peter knew it wasn't.

"I don't understand you. I gave you a shot at a better life."

The shadows swirled like black ink in water and he was back, lying in the street whimpering as the remaining dogs circled around him, but this time Peter was kneeling beside him, looking at him expectantly. The dogs nipped at his sides, teeth barring into his arms, waiting for him to give into them, to admit to the mutt he truly was.

He kept his eyes on Peter, allowing his mind to think of the life he was being drug into, a life without Peter.

"It's not the life I want." It wasn't a lie this time and it wasn't a lie then.

* * *

Peter wasn't sure how long Neal had been staring up at him, but however long it was, it was long enough that when Neal's whimpers formed an actual sentence, Peter almost went backwards.

"It's not the life I want."

Peter had no idea what Neal was talking about, but suddenly his name was being called out, torn from a throat already raw.

"Peter! No! No, no, no! Peter!"

All the agent could do was stare at the younger man as his back arched painfully from the bloodstained floor until the whimpers returned between whispers of his name.

"Please, Peter."

The shaking of his hands returned as they found the younger man's matted hair again.

"Okay, Neal. Okay. Whatever it is, okay."

His name quit being spoken.

* * *

Neal had denied the dogs their meal. He refused to accept their way of life. He told them it wasn't the life he wanted, but they weren't satisfied. At once, they attacked him. Bit in to him, savored him, drug him away. Neal tried to buck and twist out of their jaw-tight hold. He called and screamed for Peter, begging the man to do something, anything to save him. It wasn't working and the dogs almost had him in the shadows. He felt the whimpers escape his throat again and dared to call Peter one last time.

"Please, Peter."

He was halfway in the shadows, when Peter pulled him away from the dogs.

"Okay, Neal. Okay. Whatever it is, okay."

He felt the agent's hand in his hair, not scratching behind his ears like that of a dog, just mussing it like a father comforting a fevered child. The warmth of calloused hands was offered to him without limits making him realize the only way the cold could get to him was if he himself let it. And sure, the weight on his ankle, for ever how shattered and broken it was, was his fenced in yard, but how could one be worried about what was on the other side of forbidden boundaries, when you had the biggest prize of all within your reach?

"Anything, Buddy. I swear. Whatever it is, kid, you can have it, just please stay with me, alright?"

It was an odd thing for Peter to say to him. He had begged to stay with Peter mere moments ago. Why would he ever leave?

He sure didn't want to, but that's the funny thing about rock bottom. When you're there, you never get what you want.

* * *

**AN: Okay so here is the deal, I had to stop writing and I know coming back to this and attempting for the exact same feel to make this flow would be impossible, so there will be another part to this, with less angst and more comforting, I swear. I hope you guys are still into it and this chapter didn't disappoint. Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think! :)**


	11. Rock Bottom Part 3

**AN: This story spawned out of what was originally a two-shot for The Stories That Bind Us, and since there's at least going to be another chapter after this one, I figured I would give it its own story. Thanks to every one who has been reading in TSTBS, following it and reviewing it. I hope you all enjoy this chapter! **

* * *

Rock Bottom Part 3

A steady rhythm of clicks was what the world had been reduced to. Time wasn't made up of sunrises or portions of the moon cutting a slice in the night sky. Time was a click, hollow and secure.

The sound was all Peter noticed of the clock. He didn't even know where the clock was hanging, but it didn't matter. All he needed was the noise, because with every click that dripped off of every second, Neal's heart monitor clicked twice. That's what the world was made of. Clicks of time. Clicks of life. Clicks.

Peter sat in the chair beside Neal's bed. It wasn't a cliched hard, plastic one with a color resembling something out of a bedpan or vomit bucket. It was a cushioned recliner in the shade of a welcoming navy that did nothing to support his aching body, but offered the only comfort that he could really grasp. Proximity. Neal was next to him, breathing and oblivious, sleeping in a heavily drug induced sleep. Peter turned on his side, pulled the stiff blanket up over his shoulders and closed his eyes letting the clicks of the world lull him to sleep.

* * *

By now, the clicks had become silent. Like how one's blinks become an unconscious motion, the clicks went by without much notice except the fact that Peter's world was still intact. Neal was still breathing.

Peter was standing by the window for the fourth night in a row. The moon hid behind the neighboring wing of the hospital, poking out like a child waiting to be found in a game of Hide and Seek. The agent paid no mind to such deep thinking, instead he focused his attention on the traffic driving by. Taxis, cars, company vehicles. They all went by like ants working in a colony, all moving together in the same direction on a one way street. It was hypnotizing, along with the dim light in the room, the humming of the medical machines and the reassuring clicks that occasionally Peter would set his ears back to listening to just out of a sense of responsibility.

He wasn't sure how long he stood there, though it didn't matter if Neal was still there as well, but when the injured man's nightshift nurse, a woman a few years older than the agent stopped by, Peter was brought out of his momentary trance. He turned with his weary smile in perfect place.

"Hey, Linda."

"Hi, Peter. How're you doing?"

Peter stuffed his hands in the pockets of his pants, shrugging his shoulders and pitching his head towards Neal's sleeping form. "I think that question is supposed to be directed at him."

Linda sighed. The conversation had now become a formality. After helping Peter get the clearance he needed to stay with Neal at all times, except during tests and thorough examinations, she felt a connection with the agent and his charge and she wanted to offer any comfort she could.

"Well, while I check him over why don't you answer the question."

"He just sleeps. Doesn't do anything. Nothing. Just like...like he can't." Peter answered, stepping closer to the bed to watch the woman's nursing hands poke and prod at Neal. Linda raised an eyebrow at him.

"And what about you?"

Peter didn't respond at first, instead just stared at the younger man. His hand came to rest on top of Neal's head. Without looking up, he replied, "Same as him."

* * *

The world was black, a solid color he blended in to. He could feel a twinge of pain quiver throughout his body, but as he tried to look down to asses himself he was met with the same crushing reality. He was still the color of the world around him. Everything was black, except the white fog that burst into the air with the sound of a wet snarl. He jerked and took a step back as he watched the puff of white fog become a steady cloud of hot breath escaping from between sharp teeth.

Neal felt the quivering pain in his body begin to pulse, getting stronger for a bone crushing second before dimming again. He knew he had to run, to get away from the beast he had been running from for what felt like forever, but where was he supposed to go? What was the point? Everything was black. He had no direction. No one. Nothing. He couldn't do anything.

He wanted to sink down to the ground he couldn't see. Just give up, but a buzzing sound began in his ears, annoying at first and what he thought was a tactic used by the beast stalking him. He shook his head and attempted to swat at his ears. It didn't work. It just got louder and louder, until it wasn't buzzing at all. It was strange sounds. Something that had Neal's brow furrowing in confusion, but his mind reeling. For it to be so strange it had an air of familiarity.

Neal shook his head more frantically trying to clear the jumbled mess. He swatted at his ears again and suddenly the sound became language. Random words, some Neal couldn't quite recall the meaning of, some that stuck in his ears and reverberated until he could pick out a new one.

He turned a cautious eye towards the dog as more words started swirling around in his mind. The beast stood there, no longer showing its teeth, but snarling breath still rolling out. Words began to string together with each passing second, words became fragments of thoughts Neal couldn't understand and those fragments became sentences he just couldn't grasp, but the dog was backing away from him and Neal wanted to hear more, wanted it to be louder. But suddenly it all stopped. The dog growled and took a step towards him.

Neal shook his head. "No, no, no, no." He smacked his ears in a desperate attempt to make the language come back and when that failed, he started pulling, tugging at them and squirming frantically trying to find the sound again.

The dog was slowly stalking towards him, teeth exposed once more. He kept pulling at his ears, but to no avail. He could feel the dog's breath against him now as he closed his eyes. He pulled desperately one last time at his ears and nearly fainted when the sound came back.

But the sound wasn't the only thing he got.

White. Big flashes of it, mixed with other colors his brain couldn't process. He closed his eyes again, clenching them tight and tried concentrating on the sound, letting it wash over him in big waves, until it stopped again.

"No." He grounded out. "No, no. Come back. Please come back. Don't stop. Please don't stop." He kept tugging at his ears until his pleas were answered.

* * *

The fifth night had come and gone, as did Peter for only five hours with commands from Elizabeth to at least go home and shower and sleep in his own bed for a night. The sixth night Peter was back, sitting in his recliner attempting to do his crossword. He sighed heavily and glanced over at Neal, "How is it that you can still irritate me while I'm trying to do my crossword even when you're unconscious?" He smirked and tossed the paper on the nightstand while standing up from his recliner and moving over to the cliched plastic chair in the room. He pulled it up to the bed and sat down. He propped his elbows up on the bed and stared at Neal for a minute, before letting out another sigh and hanging his head.

"Come on, Neal. Just wake up, huh?"

Nothing happened of course. Peter didn't expect it to. Make no mistake, he hadn't given up on Neal. Not even a little bit. But when Neal woke up, Peter knew it wouldn't be in compliance to anything Peter asked of him, because Neal has never listened to Peter before, this time should be no different. So, Peter stopped talking, despite constant suggestions from Linda and various nurses that a conversation might just be what Neal needed.

Then Neal Caffrey did the unexpected, like always. He twitched. Fingers at first. Then his head. Peter was stunned, understandably so. He blinked. Once, twice, the third time was pushing it because suddenly the idea that if he didn't do something Neal would fall back into whatever, wherever, his brilliantly childish yet, painstakingly smart mind had been for the past six days.

Peter had stood up, knees cracking, and leaned over the bed railing. "Neal? You with me?"

Peter silently thanked the heavens above that the FBI had improved his reaction speed, otherwise he would have been supporting a broken nose because once again, Neal Caffrey did the unexpected. His hand swiftly came flying up off the mattress, IV line and all in one swinging motion, and swatting at his ear.

The weary agent caught the injured man's wrist gently in his calloused hand, chuckling lightly with relief. "Easy, buddy. Always the dramatics with you, isn't it?"

Neal stilled for a moment, as if already back in the land Peter wasn't allowed to go to, and Peter waited silently. Seconds passed, a steady string of clicks dripped off of them, then Neal's head suddenly began twitching back and forth and nimble fingers tugged at his ears.

"nn." The sound spluttered out between dry lips. "Nn. Nn. No."

Peter's hand was still around the younger man's arm but he wasn't preventing Neal from tugging at his ears. He couldn't. He was frozen. But luckily, as gargled syllables sloshed out of Neal's uncoordinated mouth, Peter's other arm was able to find the Nurse's call button.

His heart hammered with every click of the world, for now the seconds seemed to drag and the heart monitor was picking up the slack. Peter watched Neal pull and tug at his ears while trying to maneuver his other hand to wrap around Neal's other wrist.

"Hey, hey, hey. What're you doing?" Peter whispered as he leaned over the twitching boy, fearing that pain was the only reason Neal would be bothered by his ears. "Calm down, Neal. Okay? It's alright."

Neal's fingers stopped their pulling, but blue eyes still remained hidden even though he could feel the quakes of Neal's arms in his hands.

"That's it. But stay with me."

The sound of the door opening didn't prompt Peter to take his eyes off his friend. He just spoke to her, skipping their usual conversation. "He was pulling at his ears and I think trying to say 'No'. Nobody said anything about his ears being damaged. What's wrong with him?"

"It's alright, Peter. He's just coming out of all the drugs in his system. He's not exactly firing on all cylinders." Peter threw her a glare, as he released one of Neal's wrists and put it back by the man's side and she quickly added, "But if something is wrong with his ears, which I honestly don't think that there is, we will fix it."

She turned smiled what she hoped was a tension-easing smile and turned her attention to Neal. "Mr. Caffrey? Are you with us? Come on now, don't keep a lady waiting. I've been dying to see those blue eyes of yours that your family seems to think are so charming." A few moments passed and sure enough, even in their dulled, drugged-clouded state, his eyes were revealed to her like pearls in an oyster. He blinked sluggishly at her, but suddenly clamped them shut. "Don't tease me, sweetheart. Come on, keep 'em opened."

Peter glanced between them. He didn't want to take his eyes off of Neal, but every time Linda spoke to him, she spoke with such love and care that a woman, who had only known a man who hadn't even been conscious for six days, shouldn't have. It was only when she said, "There they are." that Peter turned his attention back to Neal and smiled.

She placed a hand on his forehead, leaning closer to him, inspecting his eyes with admiring, not flirtatious, ones of her own. "Yep. Those are in fact the most stunning blue eyes I've ever seen and trust me I've seen many in my days." She smiled at him and leaned farther away, not minding that his eyes were fluttering once more. Peter glanced at her, as if she didn't know Neal was leaving to go back to his own little world again, but she nodded at the both of them to tell them it was okay.

She finished up his check up with gentle, motherly hands. "His ears look fine, Peter. But I'll notify his doctor and once he comes out of the medicine more, he'll have a more extensive look at them." She turned to leave but stopped at the door. "He's going to be fine, Peter."

* * *

Two hours, or seventy-two hundred clicks, passed before Peter was woken up from his light slumber in the recliner. Syllables spluttering out between all the clicks again had been the culprit. He removed himself quickly from the prickles of the blanket and the cushions of the recliner to stand next to the bed.

"Neal?" He questioned as he grabbed Neal's wrist that was pulling on his ear again. Blue, glazed eyes slowly rolled up to him. He grinned. "What're you doing to your ears, buddy? Do they hurt?" He kept his voice soft just in case, but loud enough to get through the drug-induced fog surrounding the younger man's brain.

A lopsided grin, one that would have looked so out of place on every facade Neal could come up with, was displayed with heart-warming perfection on the ex-con's unguarded face. Neal shook his head and let his fingers quit their tugging.

Peter's grin never faltered, but his brows furrowed. "No? Then why are you pulling on them?"

Neal's eyes slowly began their retreat behind heavy eyelids. "Sss 'cause makes ...you talk."

And as Neal went back to his own little world, Peter's world was once again reduced to a steady rhythm of clicks.

* * *

**AN: I hate to end it there because I love what's coming up next, but I have two papers to write for school and I wanted to get something up before the weekend, although I plan (fingers crossed) to have the next chapter finished and posted before Monday. I hope you enjoyed this chapter and I hope you'll stick around for more. Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think! :)**


	12. Lines

***If anyone doesn't know the Rock Bottom series is in a stand alone story now and will not be posted in this one.**

**AN: I know it has been forever and I'm truly sorry about that, but college is intense this semester. But, I needed to escape from the stress of it all and write (especially after tonight's awesome episode). I promise to get back to my other stories as well, but in the meantime here's a little one-shot.**

* * *

**Lines**

There's a moment where all the lines make sense.

The wrinkles on James' face, the slouch of his shoulders, the dullness in his eyes, all of it, mold together like the marble of a priceless work of art, forming something that could never be forged. Not even by the love between a man and a woman spawning a child, could something so intricate be duplicated.

The blood that runs through Neal, forever how stained with the makeup of the man in front of him it is, is his own. It is his blood, the only thing he's ever felt like he's truly owned even if he doesn't understand it. It's spilling out of his possession though, onto the hands of a man who doesn't deserve to have it. He feels nothing except the dejected air of the realization that this is the first time he's ever shared something so personal with his father. But he doesn't want to share.

Neal places his blood-slicked fingers on the hands that use to cradle him when he first began to ask questions about the world. His fingers slip awkwardly against the hands marred with evidence to answers he has still yet to find. James' hands are rough despite the crimson blanket coating them and it confirms the notion that Neal doesn't want to receive the answers from him.

James stops his efforts with ease and Neal ponders whether it's because his father has taken too much blood from him, or if his artist fingers amount to nothing under the hands of a suspected murderer.

"Stay still, Kid. You're not dying on me." The quivers in his voice are too much for Neal to give meaning to. The last thing he wants is to expect a man he doesn't know to save his life he's never understood.

Neal's never defied his father. Granted, he's never had one to defy. But the fact remains the same and it leaves him unsure of how to go about telling James he can't do either of the things he's been ordered to do.

There's another man suddenly beside him, before his mind even processes the quick footfalls of how he got there. The new pair of hands accompany James' on his stomach, but their intention looks more like providing than stealing. Neal watches his blood snake into the creases of the new pair of hands and he realizes who they belong to without seeing the owner's face.

"Stay calm. It's alright. Help's on the way."

Neal understands that his father's words are spoken out of assurance, but he can't help but wonder why James said them, because Neal knows that help has already arrived. He turns his head, dismissing the look in his father's eyes as the man relives a memory of a dewy eyed baby craning its neck to look up at the man trying to stop its cries, and looks up at Peter.

"When will you ever listen to me?" There's no doubt that James doesn't comprehend what Peter has said, but it's the first thing that Neal has understood since one of Senator Pratt's men stuck a blade in him and pulled it out on a slightly different path than the one it traveled in on. Handler and consultant already know the answer, for both know Neal only listens when he needs to hear something. That's why Peter asks. So Neal will know that he doesn't exactly care if he ever does, just that he's around to make the choice.

His father's hands quake against his wound and Neal becomes afraid that the man's fear will seep into him and commit him to death. He grounds himself on the feeling of Peter's strong, unwavering fingers and manages to place his crimson stained hands around one of Peter's arms. He tugs at first, then somehow manages to pull himself so that he's hugging the arm like a child hugging a parent's leg. He knows the exhaustion he feels is the measurement of life he has left in him and he rests his head against the arm he clings to so that fear can't take him prematurely.

Neal watches Peter's hands. The one on the end of the arm Neal has tethered himself to stays on his bleeding stomach, while the other disappears for a moment to go behind his back and appear on the other side of him. He expects it to be placed right back down on his stomach, but is surprised to see it bat James' hands away.

"Peter?" The uncertainty his father shows makes Neal tighten his hold on Peter's arm and turn his head farther into the limb, hiding half his face behind an arm that he knew would protect him.

"It's alright. I've got pressure on it." Peter pauses a second, and Neal can tell by the way his father looks at Peter that the agent is molding his face into an expression to convey a message he doesn't want Neal to hear. "Your hands are shaking."

Neal completely buries his face in the arm after that, because he knows what the agent meant. He's not embarrassed that both of them know he's afraid of dying. It's the fact that he doesn't want to see James' face when he realizes his son is relying on someone else to save the life he gave him.

Neal clings to Peter's arm trying not to think about what James is doing, but there's a sigh he knows isn't Peter's and then there's a hand on his back which isn't Peter's either, because the injured man peeks out around the material of the agent's suit jacket to see both of Peter's hands on his stomach again.

The hand on his back is no longer shaking and for a reason Neal doesn't quite comprehend, it's comforting. His father's hand traces the top of his spine like he's done it a million times, while Neal relishes in it for the first.

But Neal suddenly feels his breath hitch and he tightens his hold on Peter's arm. He keeps his eyes open, because he's spent too much time being confined to go out in a world of darkness. He studies the lines of Peter's hands brought out by his blood filling the crevasses like that was their purpose all along, to catch the life of Neal Caffrey and do with it what the boy himself couldn't. He turns his head a fraction of an inch to see his father's hand, that isn't on his back, placed against the floor to support the man's weight. There's blood on his hand too, but Neal can't look at it like he can Peter's for a reason Neal won't let himself think about. He lets his attention wander to something else blood-stained. Between his father's hand and himself attached to Peter, there's a streak of crimson separating them from where Neal pulled himself up to the agent.

He keeps staring at the line, clenching Peter's arm tighter as he does so while listening to the sound of sirens crescendo.

Peter's voice is swimming in his ears in words he can't decipher but they're reassuring nonetheless as he studies the blood streak between them. There's lines in the crimson stain, reminding Neal of the lines on his father's face he had stared up at minutes ago. He doesn't understand either of them, but the line on the floor represents something clear.

The world is made up of lines, the lines on faces, the lines on hands, the lines in blood, the lines providing boundaries, but there's only one that really matters. For all the lines in the world, a lifeline is the only significant one.

Neal feels his breath hitch again, followed by a few seconds of being breathless, he hugs Peter's arm tighter, buries his face in the only arm he's ever known to protect him besides Ellen's and lets his lifeline's name stutter off his tongue.

"P'ter."

Neal could be his father's son, or he could be the person Peter understands him to be, but lines won't tell him that. They won't tell him who he is. They'll just tell him who he wants to be.

So when Peter's hands press down harder and he says "Stay with me, Neal," in his stern voice that Neal knows for a fact he can't defy, and, "You better damn well listen to that." Neal knows who he wants to be and then there's a moment where all the lines make sense.

* * *

**AN: Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think! **


	13. Paintbrush

**Paintbrush**

He fingers the paintbrush in his hand as if he's never held one.

It looks just like all the ones before it with the same intentions of painting a story already told. There are paints in neat little packages that remind him of inmates confined in their respected cells, and who better than he to know what that's like? He knows they are waiting to be set free, to run wild against the surface they escape onto, to explore the new world they create. He understands the feeling all too well, but for the life of him he can't bring himself to be the one to set them free. There's too much responsibility that comes with giving freedom away.

He looks up at Peter and wonders just how on earth the man can sit with his shoulders straight and carefree. For a brief second, Neal wishes he could return his freedom before realizing it's just a selfish wish to rid himself of guilt.

"Neal?"

He has had three different names by the time he was eighteen, two of which incorporated the name that has just been spoken, but the way the agent says it makes the man it belongs to think twice about answering it. Not because he's afraid of what it will lead to, but because it just doesn't sound like the name he's used to.

He twists the brush between his nimble fingers, watching the dim light of the kitchen cast a glare down the handle. Neal understands Peter is waiting for a response and even though he is aware of the fact the agent deserves one, he just can't quite give him what he wants. He takes a moment to realize that his lack of ability doesn't just apply to answering to his name, before Peter's voice derails his train of thought.

"Hey."

Because he doesn't have to commit to his name, it's easier to meet the agent's gaze across the table. He watches the corner of Peter's mouth lift in that characteristic way that lets Neal know the older man hasn't let his job take all of his humanity, before letting his nerves relax at the sight. He waits for Peter to lean forward, placing his elbows on the table and clasping his hands together, because he knows for certain how people like Peter act. He studied them during his childhood, wondering what it was like to be in the very situation he's in now.

The older man's eyes wander to the open card laying between them on the table. It's a simple card from a simple man, but both know it's anything but effortless. His brown eyes are once again visible to Neal's blue and the increase of lines around his eyes and mouth tell Neal to brace himself for something neither of them will be comfortable with.

"I know you think that you have to know who you are to have original artwork, but it just seems to me that if you have all the answers there wouldn't be any point to painting."

Neal isn't one to back down, so despite the temptation his nervous system is supplying, he keeps his gaze locked on Peter's with no intention of replying verbally. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knows the agent will take care of it, but it doesn't stop his heart from pounding in his chest in the silence.

"Maybe you can't paint originals, because you're used to having blueprints." Peter shrugs his shoulders and unlaces his hands. "And that can apply to anything." They both know art is no longer the topic of conversation, but Peter still relies on the analogy because it's the only way he can finish what he wants to say. He stands up from the table, knowing he'll want to leave the moment he's done and lazily points to the card.

"Just... paint what you don't understand but means something to you, okay?"

Neal nods, not because he's complying but because it's just an involuntary reflex. Peter is aware of it and the younger man suspects that's why he gives a small laugh, lets the corner of his mouth raise up again and says, "Happy Birthday, Neal."

Neal watches him walk into the kitchen to help Elizabeth with the cake while taking up the action of twisting the paintbrush between his fingers again.

* * *

He's two days in to being thirty-four when he stands in front of a canvas that isn't filled with anyone's feelings but his own. He's never felt so unsure in his life, but the picture before him reveals just that and he starts to think he might be an artist.

There's an expected knock at the door and when it opens without his consent, he wonders if he's painted the wrong thing.

"Hey, Neal."

The sound of his name makes him step forward so his guest won't be able to get close enough to see the canvas. He stuffs his hands into the pockets of his trousers. "Hey, Peter."

The agent lifts his eyebrows, claps his hands together while leaning slightly forward. "So, what's the surprise?"

"What? No small talk?" The corner of Neal's mouth raises but it's nothing like the way Peter's does. It's dishonest and stalling, and so evidently clear to both of them that he drops it quickly. He shrugs his shoulders and cranes his neck towards the easel with a twisting stomach. "I did what you asked."

"You painted an original?" The agent's voice sounds like Neal's just told him he's found another treasure map that somehow incorporates a crossword puzzle, too and takes an eager step forward, stopping briefly for the younger man's consent.

Neal nods and takes a step back, silently telling Peter it's okay to look. "Something I don't understand, but means something."

Peter takes three quick strides to the easel, and a part of him thinks he should have his gun drawn because he's walking in blind. He stops abruptly in front of the canvas and for a second he thinks the last few minutes were nothing but a dream because he's standing in front a perfect replica of his dinning room.

He blinks, and blinks again before leaning slightly forward to take in all of the details. The sparkle in his wife's eyes, the fabric of his favorite 'classic' suit, the begging stance of Satchmo and the green light of Neal's anklet peeking out of his raised pant leg as the four of them sit around the table at dinner, is all there in stunning perfection. Even the pictures on the mantel are there, including the photo that Elizabeth deemed his and Neal's 'prom picture'. If it had been anyone else's painting, Peter wouldn't believe someone saying it was a picture of something they didn't understand. But it being Neal Caffrey's, he knew the younger man's lost comprehension was on the scenario itself, rather than place he had painted.

He turned rather reluctantly, still wanting to keep looking at the picture but give his attention to Neal.

"You can have it, you know...if you want it." Neal says with an airy breath that Peter knows was to show dismissiveness he didn't really feel.

Peter nods and can't help but turn back to the painting. "El's going to love it." He studies it for a few more silent moments before putting his attention back on Neal. "You're an artist, Neal. Even if you don't know who you are, always remember that. Who knows? You just might surprise yourself by finding the answers." Peter motions to the painting, indicating their makeshift family all gathered around the kitchen table sharing a heart-warming laugh, before taking it off the easel.

Neal picks up the paintbrush again that Peter gave him for his birthday while watching the older man exit through the door, carrying an original Neal Caffrey painting.

Neal fingers the paintbrush in his hand as if he's never held one, because he knows that this is the first time he ever really has.

* * *

**AN: Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think! :)**


	14. The Side of David

**AN: Thanks to everyone for your support! It means so much! Hope you enjoy this little one-shot.**

* * *

**The Side of David**

Debility shakes his legs as he steps out into the sunlight for the first time in three weeks. He's frightened of the world now, because he knows just how much can change when you're hidden away from it all. The heat of the sun slams against his skin once he's out of the building and he involuntarily jerks because his mind is used to flinching at any form of contact. He closes his eyes to let his irises adjust, but when he opens them they're like a newborn child's. He wills himself to keep them open because he's prayed about this day for three weeks. He knows that sometimes you don't get exactly what you want when you're down on your knees, but you'll get everything you need if you're smart about it, but he wonders if he's still the man that can work with anything.

He's a lamb being led away from the slaughter now. Weak at the knees, unsure of the world, but now he's been given time to gain strength, to learn the things he doesn't know. The thing is, he's seen the slaughter. He knows about the darkest places, and it makes it hard to look at the lighted ones of the world and not the shadows. But there's so much sun against his skin that for a moment the darkness of the past three weeks escapes his mind for a trip down in his heart to be brought up again later.

He's finally able to see. The sights of the trees he could hear rustling in the night, the crunch of the ground underneath footfalls that quickened his already frightened heart and the gravel of the driveway that told him whether the coast was clear or not is surrounding him in a sympathetic gesture, begging him not to hold a man's choices against them and their beauty. But he's a city boy at heart, and regardless of the fact that's he's been held captive in a basement underneath the woods for twenty-one days, he still wants people to brush against his shoulders when the wearing down soles of his Italian leather shoes travel against concrete laid between buildings that remind him just how small he really is.

Red and blue lights flash against his skin illuminating the blood and bruises he carries as he walks towards the line of F.B.I. vehicles, SWAT vans and ambulances. He knows he's not being led to them in handcuffs, but he feels his body shiver because he's still afraid. The man that the hand around his bicep belongs to suddenly stops walking and yells, "Agent Burke!" He flinches at the pull it causes on his arm and the pain in his ear, because he doesn't quite catch what was said. Suddenly the man is squatting to be eye level with his downcast ones and pointing in a direction Neal does his best to follow.

For a few seconds there's several black silhouettes running towards him, and Neal tries to take a step backwards, but the man beside him thinks he's stumbling and places a hand on his back. Neal blinks several times before the sight of Peter and James running towards him is clear. He breaks away from the man's grasp, but knows it's just because the man let him go rather than his feeble attempt to pull away.

He puts one trembling leg forward, testing the ground on his own and when he realizes he's still standing he takes another, then one more before he's standing in front of Peter and his father.

Time seems to stand still, as does everyone. Neal keeps his eyes on Peter who just stares right back, but his mind wanders to James who looks him up and down. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knows that it's a father's right to study his son, to judge him, but Peter is standing in front of him as if reaching out to touch him would make him disappear again and the fact that he just stands there, eyes on Neal's, tells the younger man that the agent can't lose him again.

Neal knows he'll have to be the first one to move, but for the life of him he can't do it. He knows Peter is real and that's the whole damn problem. People like Peter don't exist in his world. His world is filled with people too powerful, consciouses too bare and hearts too fearful. His world is made up of monsters and giants and when he finally lets his eyes travel to his father, he understands he's finally found the biggest one of all. He's finally found Goliath.

But he is no David. He knows he isn't. Every wall he's ever built proves that he's not and the walls might as well be built out of hay because they are no match for the man who has encouraged the making of them.

He takes his eyes off Goliath because that's what every coward would do. He's back to staring at Peter who has yet to move and starts to wonder if the man's unspoken fear has some merit to it, because if it does his next move will leave him in Goliath's clutches. He's a risk taker though, always has been, but he knows it doesn't make him brave. It just makes him a coward with a foolish sense of hope and that's why he moves first.

He takes a tiny step forward and says, "Peter."

It's the first thing he has said in days and his voice is the damning evidence of it. Although it's harsh against his own ears, it makes the agent move for the first time and suddenly there's arms around him. He's back to standing still in Peter's embrace and knows it's because this shouldn't be real. But Peter's saying, "I told you I would find you," and it's anything but gloating. Neal understands it's another promise to never let the monsters and giants fully take him away.

Over Peter's shoulder, Neal can see the hurt, jealous look in his father's eyes and it stings like a claw being torn into his flesh, but the pain gives him the strength he needs to finally grasp the back of Peter's jacket and bury his face in the agent's shoulder. He turns his head from side to side because he just can't believe this is real. But Peter's hand comes up to keep it still, because he wants him to know if there are such things as monsters and giants, there's such things as heroes, too. And suddenly Neal realizes the only reason he's never found Goliath before now was because he had never found David.

Neal feels his legs shake a little bit more, because the world he's carrying is too heavy for such feeble limbs. But Peter's holding him a little bit tighter, telling him, "Easy. Come on, lets sit down," and guiding him somewhere Neal will with out a doubt follow.

He's sitting down on the back of an ambulance now, between Peter and James. The agent's arm is still around him and Neal's shoulder is in the crook of it. Then his father's hand is on his head and Neal can't help but lean into it, but when Peter's grip loosens slightly to allow Neal to go where he wants, Neal suddenly plants himself back against Peter's side.

At first, Neal believes it to be because he's too much of a coward to face Goliath on his own, but then realizes that if it's not his side against Peter's, it's a knife against it instead and Neal's too smart, his heart too golden, his loyalty too deep, to put a knife in Peter's side, in David's side.

There he is, sitting between David and Goliath and he can't help but feel like he's a little bit of both. He knows that should scare him, because he's wavering on a dangerous line between being a man he's been afraid of becoming and being a man he doesn't know if he can be. But Peter's arm tightens back around his shoulders and his father's hand leaves his head and he stands up, putting it through his own gray hair and sighing.

"I'm going to kill the son of bitch."

Neal buries himself farther into Peter's side, because Goliath is starting to show his strength and he knows he doesn't have enough. The agent once again lets Neal go where he wants and says, "James," in a voice Neal's all too familiar with and he knows his father can hear the 'calm down or leave' in his name, because Neal can hear it too. There's a few moments before James chooses the one Neal knows his father to be more comfortable with, the one Goliath will always choose.

Neal's body shivers with each step his father takes like it did when he was a little boy afraid of the roar of thunder, but instead of wishing he had someone to take him away from the storm, Peter's pulling him closer and saying something that ends with, "home" and with a smile he actually feels, Neal watches as Goliath walks away, leaving him on the side of David in more ways than one.

* * *

**AN: Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think! **


	15. Olives

**Because I've been writing and reading reading a lot of sad stories since the season 4 finale, I thought I'd offer a bit of a lighter one-shot. **

**Takes place after the ending of season 4 is resolved.**

**Olives**

"Dinner is served, boys." Elizabeth announced as she placed a homemade pizza, fresh out of the oven, complete with cheese, pepperoni and black olives, on the Burke's dinning room table. She went to get the roll of napkins as the sound of one pair of heavy footfalls followed by a pair of much lighter ones indicated Peter and Neal had heard her.

"Peter."

The way Neal said her husband's name told El that he, yet again, had some brilliantly schemed plan that Peter would no doubt be proud of, but unwilling to agree to it due to the rational part of his mind and that gut-churning feeling he got when Neal's safety came into play.

She was already smiling before Peter gave his expected, short response of "No" and ended the conversation as the three of them sat down at the table, with Satchmo sitting nearby.

"Alright, dig in." Elizabeth encouraged, sliding a piece onto her plate while Peter and Neal slid two. Peter instantly took a bite of his and Elizabeth fixed her napkin across her lap. She began to pick up her pizza when she noticed that Neal was just staring at his.

"Neal? Is something wrong?"

* * *

_One Week Ago..._

"_Please tell me again why we couldn't have ate at the restaurant next door? We would have exactly the same view of Marlone's place." Neal complained from his side of the table in Tony's Pizzeria. _

_Peter rolled his eyes, taking them away from the window where he had been surveilling their suspect's place of business across the street. "Seeing as how you've not managed to focus one second of your attention on our suspect since we started, I find no reason to let you to pick the stakeout spot."_

"_Had you let me pick, I would have paid more attention to the," Neal paused and looked out the window with a dramatic squint, "invisible suspect you've been watching the past hour." He turned back to Peter with a matter-of-fact look that made the agent take a deep, patient-practiced breath._

"_Shut up and eat the rest of your pizza."_

_Minutes passed, long and awkward minutes. Neal had indeed kept silent, leaving the table in silence while Peter stared out the window waiting for their suspect to show, which he had almost come to the conclusion was not going to happen. Eventually, Peter's watchful eye wandered to his consultant across the table. Neal was on his fourth slice of pizza and just like each piece before, the younger man was picking the black olives off of it and tossing them on an extra plate. _

_Peter watched him pick the very last one off and then take a bite before asking, "Neal, if you don't like black olives, why did you order them in the first place?"_

_Neal quirked an eyebrow at him, still chewing his pizza and offered him a one shoulder shrug. _

"_Ah, no." Peter responded, placing his elbows on the table and leaning forward in excited curiosity. "You're meticulous for a reason. What's the reason for this?"_

_Neal swallowed and wiped his mouth with his napkin. Faking amusement, he replied, "I see you've came to the same conclusion that Marlone is a no-show. Luckily, the famous Burke detective skills are now focused on me."_

_Peter rubbed his tongue on the inside of his cheek to stop from smiling as he leaned back in his chair. "They are. So why order the olives?"_

_Neal gave a short chuckle and took another bite of his pizza. _

"_Come on," Peter edged, "I hardly doubt that it could be anything incriminating." He shot a warning look at his consultant when Neal pushed the food in his mouth to one side and grinned with the other. "That was not a challenge." Neal didn't respond. " Seriously, it can't be that big of a deal."_

"_If it's not a big deal, the why do you want to know?"_

_Peter sighed another patient-practiced sigh and leaned forward once more. "Like you said, my famous Burke detective skills. Once they catch wind of something, they don't stop."_

"_Don't I know it?" Neal asked rhetorically, grabbing another slice of pizza even though he was full. He started to pick the olives off. _

"_You should. I used them to catch you." Peter grinned._

_Neal shot him a look. "No shit, Sherlock."_

_The agent rolled his eyes. "So tell me, Dr. Watson, what's with the olives?"_

_Now it was the younger man's turn to grin. "I am a doctor," he said matter-of-fact._

"_Not that kind of doctor and I really don't think you want me to start investigating that do you?" He didn't wait for Neal to respond because he knew he wouldn't. Instead he persisted, "So, the olives?"_

_Neal sighed and placed on arm on the table, while using the other hand to keep picking off the olives. "It's really nothing, Peter."_

"_Then it's not a problem to tell me." He said, leaning forward just a bit more in anticipation._

_Neal took a deep breath and kept his eyes on his slice of pizza. "When I was little...my mom used to make the best pizza. I didn't want to eat anything else except that." Neal let a small laugh escape him, knowing, rather than seeing, that Peter was grinning. "Anyway, after we were put into WITSEC, she...didn't really...cook anymore. She tried...ever once in awhile she would make pizza but...it didn't taste the same. She started putting olives on it and I hated olives, but," Neal shrugged his shoulder and shook his head, "it didn't matter. I was just happy that she made pizza because it was like things were...normal." Neal stopped talking for a moment, picking off one more olive in silence. Peter bit his lip, debating on whether he should urge Neal to continue or just stay quiet. He was a bit surprised when the younger man began talking again. "Ellen did her best...she tried to make the pizza that I liked and say that Mom had cooked it but I knew it was her."_

"_You were a forgery expert at an early age." Peter teased easily. _

_Neal didn't look up but chuckled. "Yeah. Anyway, I didn't have the heart to tell Ellen so I just went along with it, but every time there was pizza with olives on it I knew that Mom had made it. I guess...I just thought that it meant things were normal. I don't know."_

_Neal shrugged again and tossed the last olive onto the extra plate and leaned back in his chair, wiping his mouth with his napkin. Peter leaned back as well, trying to give Neal just a little more space. "Did you ever tell Ellen that you knew?" He asked, trying to lighten the situation without making it obvious. _

"_Turns out, she knew all along that I knew. Ever since then, olives just...represented normalcy. We didn't really have much of it, but what we did have was good."_

* * *

"Neal?" Elizabeth questioned with a bit more worry in her tone. She reached out and touched his arm. Neal's head snapped up and he shook his head before setting his gaze on her. He smiled at her.

"Sorry, Elizabeth. I was thinking of a way to convince Peter of my plan to catch Malone."

She eyed him, silently telling him she knew he was lying, before going back to eating her pizza. She noticed Peter watching the younger man who was fidgeting with his slice as if trying to nibble around the olives. He took the biggest bite possible without biting into one. He chewed and swallowed before turning a smile back to Elizabeth.

"This pizza is delicious, Elizabeth."

She hesitated only for a moment to glance at Peter, who still had his eyes on Neal with an amused smile, then replied, "Well I'm glad you like it, but I didn't make it. Peter did."

Neal froze for a fraction of second before recovering and turning his head towards Peter. The agent smiled wider at him, taking a bite of his own piece, then said, "You can pick the olives off if you don't like them."

Neal didn't know how to react, but fortunately Elizabeth suddenly stood from the table saying something along the lines of, "I fixed salad to go with the pizza" and went into the kitchen. Neal placed his pizza back on his plate without saying a word.

Peter sat in the uncomfortable silence for a few seconds, wondering if he had over stepped his boundaries, then purposefully drank the last of his beer so he could excuse himself to get another one. However, as he stood up he looked at his consultant. "Hey Neal?" The younger man's eyes, that held an emotion that was cloaked just enough that the agent couldn't tell what it was, met his. "We...don't have a lot of normalcy. But...I think...what we do have is...good."

Peter didn't wait for a response before going to get another drink from the kitchen, but he didn't have to, because when he came back all the olives on Neal's slice of pizza were picked off.

* * *

**AN: Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think!**


	16. A Rich Man's Doorstep

**I apologize for the long wait on any update to any of my stories, college has prevented me from writing and this short story is the first thing I've written in weeks. I hope after this last week of the semester I can get back to writing and updating all of my stories, even the ones started forever ago.**

* * *

A Rich Man's Doorstep

His knees are on the ground, the most discarded place of the earth for the most hopeless of men. They bare down into the mud, forcing it to spread out underneath his own weight and the weight of what the world has abandoned on his shoulders like a poor mother placing a newborn child on a rich man's doorstep.

There's an innocence woven into his heart, he's sure, because each time the world tries to strip him of his very last ounce, it pierces like that of stitches being pulled taut on freshly sewn skin, but he grits his teeth and lets the grating of them prevent the scream in his throat from ripping through, while the world plays with the threads of who he is as a man.

His knees slip deeper into the mud, or maybe it's the other way around, but there's enough of the devil's voice in his head already, so he doesn't even contemplate it and instead starts a conversation with someone else.

"Damn it, Neal. Hold on!" The words break between the minuscule cracks between Peter's clenched teeth as a mud-slicked arm slips against his hand. His fingers are crushing the bone beneath the dirtied skin of his consultant before his mind can even tell him to do so and he doesn't even care that the younger man groans out of discomfort, because it's equivalent to Neal telling him that his socks itch when he's suspected the conman has broken a vital promise to him.

"Would you rather I let you fall to your death?" He asks it because he's trying to make up for Neal's lack of witty greetings when danger is knocking at his door, but it ends in a nauseating silence when Neal's fingers don't even grasp his arm again, already eager to follow danger where it's begging him to go.

" 'the hell, Neal?" Peter already fears the reason as to why Neal's ready to slip between his fingers, but he demands another explanation than the one Neal's silently telling him, even if it's a damn lie perfectly rolling off a silver tongue like ocean waves caressing the shore

"Let go." The sound is pitifully commanding. Teeth scrape against Neal's bloodied, mud-caked bottom lip before the same command is given with much more conviction and Peter feels the muscles in his arms burn a bit more because he feels like there's a warrior dangling from his limbs rather than a small, conniving man when he realizes the pronoun of 'me' wasn't used.

"Peter. Let go!" Neal's voice is demandingly loud, as if Peter himself were the one about to slide off a cliff, in need of a rescue and when his knees start slipping in the mud again, he realizes he's inches away from just that.

He catches blue irises bursting between the evidence of their predicament marred across Neal's face and shakes his head 'no' so authoritatively it should've shaken the earth. But there's slender, slick fingers reaching up, grasping his wrist just above his watch and he wishes that their intention is to steal it, but he knows their plan is anything but what he desires.

"_I'm _letting go, Peter." There's so much emphasis on the word 'I'm' that if they weren't in the situation they were in, Peter would start to question Neal's amount of vanity. But the kid's looking at him with such round, desperate eyes and he knows the kid is anything but selfish.

Peter feels Neal's free hand push against the grasp that he has on his other with a strength fueled by anguish, but he holds on tighter, regardless of the fact that he's practically branding the younger man's arm with his handprint.

His knees are slipping against the mud once more, this time at a faster pace, but Neal's saying "Peter, _Please,_" and the older man knows that Neal understands Peter's not going to be cut like a tracking anklet and left behind without a purpose. So when Peter's knees start slipping faster against the mud and Neal begins the drop that he desperately begged the agent not to follow, Peter's last ounce of strength goes into the bone crushing grasp around Neal's forearm and they slide off the edge and begin their descent to the ground, the most discarded place of the earth for the most hopeless of men.

There's a pain in his back, flames licking in the crevasses of his spine because the world's trusted him with too much weight and he's breaking underneath it all at the bottom of the cliff, slowly losing consciousness like Neal already has, but it doesn't stop him from pulling the limp body to him, protectively wrapping his arms around it, because he knows that he's the rich man that owns the doorstep that Neal Caffrey was placed on and he'll be damned if he abandons him like so many people before him.

* * *

**AN: A one-shot, maybe a two-shot if I can ever get around to it. Again, I apologize for the long wait on anything being updated. Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think. **


	17. Memories

_**Memories**_

"_Danny." Her voice rang out from somewhere beyond the bushes. "Danny, where are you?"_

_She asked the question, but her voice was anything but questioning no matter how hard she tried. He watched her feet travel in an intentional lost direction between the slits of the branches and leaves before they stopped right in front of the bush he hid behind. He buried his wet face in the crook of his folded arms on his knees, willing his shirt to soak up the tears as fast he was producing them. _

_He heard her coming closer, imagined her face, the picture of everything beautiful and safe in this world, poke between the branches while the rest of her body followed suit. _

"_Aw," She sighed, slow, even and loving, "Danny, it's alright. It's okay. She's okay."_

_She spoke with such certainty, it pained him to know he wasn't her biological child, that that trait would never still the pounding in his chest._

"_But, Ellen," He choked between the hiccups in his throat, "She doesn't even know who I am."_

_He felt Ellen's hand cradle the side his face, pushing it up out of the bend of his elbow he hid in. "Danny, you know she does. You know how your mother is. So what's the real reason, kiddo? What are you running from this time?"_

_He sniffled, but swallowed the sob trying to rip through him with a quivering lip. "Is she right? Is Mom right? Am I...bad? Am I going to grow up to be a bad person?"_

"_Oh, Danny," Ellen's thumb wiped beneath his eye, derailing a loose tear, "when you grow up, there's no telling of the man you'll become, but you'll never find out if you keep running away from him."_

* * *

"Neal? Neal?" Elizabeth's voice brought him out of his thoughts. "What are you doing out here?"

Neal looked at her, completely at a loss in the middle of the Burke's backyard. He pushed himself away from the tree he was leaning against and grinned at her while his brain strung an honest sentence together that wouldn't tell her the entire truth. "Just, uh, looking for something I can't seem to find."

"Oh, what did you lose? Maybe I can help you look."

"Nothing. I don't want to trouble you. I'm sure I'll find it eventually." He produced an easy laugh with a lot more effort than it should take and nearly let his grin falter with the fatigue.

The half truth molded Elizabeth's face into an expression that Ellen had worn in the memory when he didn't want to tell her the truth. He felt something sharp in his chest and did everything but squirm into a new position so as to cover it.

Elizabeth's mouth opened to say something that would surely make him writhe in his expensively fabricated self, but it was Peter's voice from the backdoor that made his head turn.

"What are you two doing out here? Satchmo and I are about to fight over your plates. Come on, before the pot roast gets cold."

Neal grinned and immediately began heading inside with ease from his escape, but his muscles tensed when Elizabeth's arm snaked through his while the other one patted his back as they walked into the house, both knowing that the things not spoken are heard the loudest.

* * *

"_I wanna be brave like you, Ellen...but I'm scared."_

_He felt her thumb slide across his bruising skin underneath his eye as if she'd caught his tears and placed them upon her own face. _

"_It's okay to be scared, Danny."_

"_It is?"_

"_Of course it is. If you're scared, it means you love something so much you can't live without it." Ellen's hand slid from his face and suddenly he was pulled towards her. "I don't want you to be brave if it means giving up the thing that means the most to you."_

* * *

"Neal? Hey, you with us?"

Neal blinked at the blurry image of Peter's fingers snapping in front of his face. The ache under his eye lingered longer than the memory, causing him to lift a hand to rub at it under the agent's concerned stare.

"Y..yeah...I just remembered something is all."

"About the case? James?"

He silently appreciated that Peter didn't refer to James as his father this time, and absentmindedly rubbed two fingers across the stitches on the left side of his head, inwardly shuddering at slight scratch of his buzzed cut hair around the wound.

"No. Not exactly."

"Well, then. What is it?"

"Hon." Elizabeth scolded at what Neal assumed was the agent's characteristic interrogation session.

"Sorry." Peter's mouth moved in a firm line that was on the border of a grimace and a grin, while he placed his hands on his hips causing him to look much more fatherly than James standing over him with a broken piece of pipe, telling him that if he valued anything about his life he wouldn't send his FBI buddies after him.

"It's ok, Peter." Neal didn't miss the way both husband and wife looked at him, because he even felt his own eyebrow raise up slightly as the name rolled off his tongue for the first time since he had woken up in the hospital without one memory to call his own. It sounded weird to his ears, but his heart started to creep out of his stomach to its rightful place in his chest. "It was something from my childhood."

"Oh yeah?" Peter replied, dropping his hands from his hips and placing one arm around Neal's shoulders. "What do you think triggered something like that?"

* * *

"_I won't ever give up on family, Aunt Ellen. You taught me that." _

_He felt Ellen pull him into a hug, realizing she wasn't as brave as he'd made her out to be before. "Then stop worrying about the man you'll become, Danny, because you're family will never give up on you no matter who you turn out to be."_

* * *

Neal glanced at Peter for a second, giving him a half sided grin. "Doesn't matter, I'm just glad I remembered it. Now I just have to wait for all the rest."

"Well, it could take some time, but don't worry about it, Neal. We can just start making some new ones while we wait for the others, like eating the delicious pot roast on the table. Now, sit. Eat."

"Would you like me to wag my tail, too?"

"No, just eating dinner without any interruptions would suit me just fine for your main trick."

Neal grinned broadly at him as he sat down at the table. "We'll see."

"Yes, we will."

* * *

**AN: Thanks for reading. Let me know what you think. **


End file.
